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CRANFORD 


BY 


MRS.  GASKELL 


PHILADELPHIA 

HENRY  ALTEMUS 
1893 


ALTEMUS'   BOOKBINDERY 
PHILADELPHIA. 


SUOkMMA 

47/0 

CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER  PAOB 

I. — Our  Society 5 

II. — The  Captain 22 

III. — A  Love  Affair  of  Long  Ago 45 

IV. — A  Visit  to  an  Oi.d  Bachklor        ....    59 

v.— Old  Letters 77 

VI.— Poor  Peter 94 

VII.— Visiting 113 

VIII. — "  Your  Ladyship  " 129 

IX. — SiGNOR  BrTINONT I50 

X.— The  Panic 165 

XI. — Samuei,  Brown 187 

XII. — Engaged  to  be  Married 205 

XIII. — Stopped  Payment 218 

XIV. — Friends  in  Need .•  •  •  236 

XV. — A  Happy  Return 263 

XVI.— "  Peace  to  Cranford  " 283 


2040823 


CRANFORD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

OUR  SOCIBTY. 

IN  the  first  place,  Cranford  is  in  possession  of 
the  Amazons;  all  the  holders  of  houses, 
above  a  certain  rent,  are  women.  If  a  married 
couple  come  to  settle  in  the  town,  somehow  the 
gentleman  disappears;  he  is  either  fairly  fright- 
ened to  death  by  being  the  only  man  in  the 
Cranford  evening  parties,  or  he  is  accounted 
for  by  being  with  his  regiment,  his  ship,  or 
closely  engaged  in  business  all  the  week  in  the 
great  neighboring  commercial  town  of  Drum- 
ble,  distant  only  twenty  miles  on  a  railroad. 
In  short,  whatever  does  become  of  the  gentle- 
men, they  are  not  at  Cranford.  What  could 
they  do  if  they  were  there?  The  surgeon  has 
his  round  of  thirty-  miles,  and  sleeps  at  Cran- 
ford; but  every  man  cannot  be  a  surgeon.  P'or 
keeping  the  trim  gardens  full  of  choice  flowers 
without  a  weed  to  speck  them;  for  frightening 
away  little  boys  who  look  wistfully  at  the  said 
(5) 


6  CrantorD. 

flowers  through  the  railiugs;  for  rushing  out 
at  the  geese  that  occasionally  venture  into  the 
gardens  if  the  gates  are  left  open ;  for  deciding 
all  questions  of  literature  and  politics  without 
troubling  themselves  with  unnecessary  reasons 
or  arguments ;  for  obtaining  clear  and  correct 
knowledge  of  everj' body's  affairs  in  the  parish; 
for  keeping  their  neat  maid-serv'ants  in  admir- 
able order ;  for  kindness  (somewhat  dictatorial) 
to  the  poor,  and  real  tender  good  oflSces  to  each 
other  whenever  they  are  in  distress,  the  ladies 
of  Cranford  are  quite  sufficient.  "A  man,"  as 
one  of  them  observed  to  me  once,  "is  so  in  the 
way  in  the  house!"  Although  the  ladies  of 
Cranford  know  all  each  other's  proceedings, 
they  are  exceedinglj^  indifferent  to  each  other's 
opinions.  Indeed,  as  each  has  her  own  indi- 
viduality, not  to  say  eccentricitj'-,  pretty 
strongly  developed,  nothing  is  so  easy  as  ver- 
bal retaliation;  but  somehow  good-will  reigns 
among  them  to  a  considerable  degree. 

The  Cranford  ladies  have  only  an  occasional 
little  quarrel,  spirted  out  in  a  few  peppery 
words  and  angry  jerks  of  the  head;  just  enough 
to  prevent  the  even  tenor  of  their  lives  from 
becoming  too  flat.  Their  dress  is  very  inde- 
pendent of  fashion;  as  they  obser^'e :  "What 
does  it  signify  how  we  dress  here  in  Cranford, 
where  everybody  knows  us  ? "  And  if  the}-  go 
from  home,  their  reason  is  equally  cogent: 
"What  does  it  signify  how  we  dress  here, 
where  nobody  knows  us  ?  "     The  materials  of 


®uc  Society. 


their  clothes  are,  in  general,  good  and  plain, 
and  most  of  them  are  nearly  as  scrupulous  as 
Miss  Tyler,  of  cleanly  memory ;  but  I  will 
answer  for  it,  the  last  gigot,  the  last  tight  and 
scanty  petticoat  in  wear  in  England,  was  seen 
in  Cranford — and  seen  without  a  smile. 

I  can  testify  to  a  magnificent  family  red  silk 
umbrella,  under  which  a  gentle  little  spinster, 
left  alone  of  many  brothers  and  sisters,  used  to 
patter  to  church  on  rainy  days.  Have  you  any 
red  silk  umbrellas  in  London  ?  We  had  a  tra- 
dition of  the  first  that  had  ever  been  seen  in 
Cranford  ;  and  the  little  boys  mobbed  it,  and 
called  it  "  a  stick  in  petticoats. ' '  It  might  have 
been  the  very  red  silk  one  I  have  described, 
held  by  a  strong  father  over  a  troop  of  little 
ones ;  the  poor  little  lady — the  survivor  of  all 
— could  scarcely  carry  it. 

Then  there  were  rules  and  regulations  for 
visiting  and  calls  ;  and  they  were  announced 
to  any  young  people,  who  might  be  staying  in 
the  town,  with  all  the  solemnity  with  which 
the  old  Manx  laws  were  read  once  a  year  on 
the  Tinwald  Mount. 

"  Our  friends  have  sent  to  inquire  how  you 
are  after  your  journey  to-night,  my  dear  (fifteen 
miles  in  a  gentleman's  carriage);  they  will  give 
j^ou  some  rest  to-morrow,  but  the  next  day,  I 
have  no  doubt,  they  will  call ;  so  be  at  liberty 
after  twelve ; — from  twelve  to  three  are  our 
calling-hours." 

Then  after  they  had  called : 


8  Crautord. 

"It  is  the  third  day ;  I  dare  say  your  mamma 
has  told  you,  my  dear,  never  to  let  more  than 
three  days  elapse  between  receiving  a  call  and 
returning  it ;  and  also,  that  you  are  never  to 
stay  longer  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour. ' ' 

"  But  am  I  to  look  at  my  watch  ?  How  am 
I  to  find  out  when  a  quarter  of  an  hour  has 
passed?" 

"You  must  keep  thinking  about  the  time, 
my  dear,  and  not  allow  j^ourself  to  forget  it  in 
conversation." 

As  everybody  had  this  rule  in  their  minds 
whether  they  received  or  paid  a  call,  of  course 
no  absorbing  subject  was  ever  spoken  about. 
We  kept  ourselves  to  short  sentences  of  small 
talk,  and  were  punctual  to  our  time. 

I  imagine  that  a  few  of  the  gentlefolks  of 
Cranford  were  poor,  and  had  some  difficulty  in 
making  both  ends  meet;  but  they  were  like 
the  Spartans,  and  concealed  their  smart  under 
a  smiling  face.  We  none  of  us  spoke  of  money, 
because  that  subject  savored  of  commerce  and 
trade,  and  though  some  might  be  poor,  we 
were  all  aristocratic.  The  Cranfordians  had 
that  kindly  esprit  de  corps  which  made  them 
overlook  all  deficiencies  in  success  when  some 
among  them  tried  to  conceal  their  poverty. 
When  Mrs.  Forrester,  for  instance,  gave  a  party 
in  her  baby-house  of  a  dwelling,  and  the  little 
maiden  disturbed  the  ladies  on  the  sofa  by  a 
request  that  she  might  get  the  tea-tray  out  from 
underneath,  every  one  took  this  novel  proceed- 


©uc  Society. 


ing  as  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world ; 
and  talked  on  about  household  forms  and  cere- 
monies, as  if  we  all  believed  that  our  hostess 
had  a  regular  servants'  hall,  second  table,  with 
housekeeper  and  steward  ;  instead  of  the  one 
little  charity-school  maiden,  whose  short  ruddy- 
arms  could  never  have  been  strong  enough  to 
carry  the  tray  up  stairs,  if  she  had  not  been 
assisted  in  private  by  her  mistress,  who  now 
sate  in  state,  pretending  not  to  know  what 
cakes  were  sent  up  ;  though  she  knew,  and  we 
knew,  and  she  knew  that  we  knew,  and  we 
knew  that  she  knew  that  we  knew,  she  had 
been  busy  all  the  morning  making  tea-bread 
and  sponge-cakes. 

There  were  one  or  two  consequences  arising 
from  this  general  but  acknowledged  poverty, 
and  this  very  much  acknowledged  gentility, 
which  were  not  amiss,  and  which  might  be  in- 
troduced into  many  circles  of  society  to  their 
great  improvement.  For  instance,  the  inhab- 
itants of  Cranford  kept  early  hours,  and  clat- 
tered home  in  their  pattens,  under  the  gui- 
dance of  a  lantern-bearer,  about  nine  o'clock 
at  night ;  and  the  whole  town  was  abed  and 
asleep  by  half-past  ten.  Moreover,  it  was  con- 
sidered "vulgar"  (a  tremendous  word  in 
Cranford)  to  give  anything  expensive  in  the 
way  of  eatables  or  drinkables  at  the  evening 
entertainments.  Wafer  bread-and-butter  and 
sponge  biscuits  were  all  that  the  Honorable 
Mrs.  Jamieson  gave  •  and  she  w'as  sister-in-law 


lo  Crantor&. 

to  the  late  Earl  of  Glenmire,  although  she  did 
practise  such  "elegant  economy." 

"Elegant  economy!"  How  naturally  one 
falls  back  into  the  phraseology  of  Cranford ! 
There,  economy  was  always  "elegant,"  and 
money -spending  always  ' '  vulgar  and  ostenta- 
tious ;"  a  sort  of  sour-grapeism,  which  made  us 
very  peaceful  and  satisfied.  I  never  shall  for- 
get the  dismay  felt  when  a  certain  Captain 
Brown  came  to  live  at  Cranford,  and  openly 
spoke  about  his  being  poor — not  in  a  whisper 
to  an  intimate  friend,  the  doors  and  windows 
being  previously  closed ;  but  in  the  public 
street! — in  a  loud  military  voice  ! — alleging  his 
poverty  as  a  reason  for  not  taking  a  particular 
house.  The  ladies  of  Cranford  were  already 
rather  moaning  over  the  invasion  of  their  terri- 
tories by  a  man  and  a  gentleman.  He  was  a 
half-pay  captain,  and  had  obtained  some  situa- 
tion on  a  neighboring  railroad,  which  had  been 
vehemently  petitioned  against  by  the  little 
town;  and  if,  in  addition  to  his  masculine 
gender,  and  his  connection  with  the  obnoxious 
railroad,  he  was  so  brazen  as  to  talk  of  being 
poor — why!  then,  indeed,  he  must  be  sent  to 
Coventrj'.  Death  was  as  true  and  as  common 
as  poverty  ;  3'et  people  never  spoke  about  that, 
loud  out  in  the  streets.  It  was  a  word  not  to 
be  mentioned  to  ears  polite.  We  had  tacitly 
agreed  to  ignore  that  any  with  whom  we  asso- 
ciated on  terms  of  visiting  equality  could  ever 
be  prevented  by  poverty  from  doing  anything 


©ur  Society.  II 


that  they  wished.  If  we  walked  to  or  from  a 
party,  it  was  because  the  night  was  so  fine,  or 
the  air  so  refreshing;  not  because  sedan-chairs 
were  expensive.  If  we  wore  prints,  instead  of 
summer  silks,  it  was  because  we  preferred  a 
washing  material;  and  so  on,  till  we  blinded 
ourselves  to  the  vulgar  fact  that  we  were,  all  of 
us,  people  of  very  moderate  means.  Of  course, 
then,  we  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  a  man 
who  could  speak  of  poverty  as  if  it  was  not  a 
disgrace.  Yet  somehow  Captain  Brown  made 
himself  respected  in  Cranford,  and  was  called 
upon,  in  spite  of  all  resolutions  to  the  contiary. 
I  was  surprised  to  hear  his  opinions  quoted  as 
authority,  at  a  visit  which  I  paid  to  Cranford, 
about  a  year  after  he  had  settled  in  the  town. 
My  own  friends  had  been  among  the  bitterest 
opponents  of  any  proposal  to  visit  the  captain 
and  his  daughters,  only  twelve  months  before; 
and  now  he  was  even  admitted  in  the  tabooed 
hours  before  twelve.  True,  it  was  to  discover 
the  cause  of  a  smoking  chimney,  before  the  fire 
was  lighted  ;  but  still.  Captain  Brown  walked 
up-stairs,  nothing  daunted,  spoke  in  a  voice  too 
large  for  the  room,  and  joked  quite  in  the  way 
of  a  tame  man,  about  the  house.  He  had  been 
blind  to  all  the  small  slights  and  omissions  of 
trivial  ceremonies  with  which  he  had  l)eeu 
received.  He  had  "been  friendly,  though  the 
Cranford  ladies  had  been  cool;  he  had  an- 
swered small  sarcastic  compliments  in  good 
faith;  and  with  his  manly  frankness  had  over- 


12  CrantorD. 

powered  all  the  shrinking  which  met  him  as  a 
man  who  was  not  ashamed  to  be  poor.  And, 
at  last,  his  excellent  masculine  common-sense, 
and  his  facility  in  devising  expedients  to  over- 
come domestic  dilemmas,  had  gained  him  an 
extraordinary  place  as  authority  among  the 
Cranford  ladies.  He,  himself,  went  on  in  his 
course,  as  unaware  of  his  popularity  as  he  had 
been  of  the  reverse;  and  I  am  sure  he  was 
startled  one  day,  when  he  found  his  advice  so 
highly  esteemed,  as  to  make  some  counsel 
which  he  had  given  in  jest,  be  taken  in  sober, 
serious  earnest. 

It  was  on  this  subject:  an  old  lady  had  an 
Aldemey  cow,  which  she  looked  upon  as  a 
daughter.  You  could  not  pay  the  short  quar- 
ter-of-an-hour  call,  without  being  told  of  the 
wonderful  milk  or  wonderful  intelligence  of 
this  animal.  The  whole  town  knew  and  kindly 
regarded  Miss  Betsy  Barker's  Alderney ;  there- 
fore great  was  the  sympathy  and  regret  when, 
in  an  unguarded  moment,  the  poor  cow  tum- 
bled into  a  lime-pit.  She  moaned  so  loudly 
that  she  was  soon  heard,  and  rescued ;  but- 
meanwhile  the  poor  beast  had  lost  most  of  her 
hair,  and  came  out  looking  naked,  cold,  and 
miserable,  in  a  bare  skin.  Everybody  pitied 
the  animal,  though  a  few  could  not  restrain 
their  smiles  at  her  droll '  appearance.  Miss 
Betsy  Barker  absolutely  cried  with  sorrow  and 
dismay :  and  it  was  said  she  thought  of  trying 
a  bath  of  oil.     This  remedy,  perhaps,  was  re- 


®uc  Society.  13 


commended  by  some  one  of  the  number  whose 
advice  she  asked ;  but  the  proposal,  if  ever  it 
was  made,  was  knocked  on  the  head  by  Cap- 
tain Brown's  decided  "Get  her  a  flannel  waist- 
coat and  flannel  drawers,  ma'am,  if  you  wish 
to  keep  her  alive.  But  my  advice  is,  kill  the 
poor  creature  at  once." 

Miss  Betsy  Barker  dried  her  eyes,  and 
thanked  the  Captain  heartily  ;  she  set  to  work, 
and  by  and  by  all  the  town  turned  out  to  see 
the  Alderney  meekly  going  to  her  pasture,  clad 
in  dark  gray  flannel.  I  have  watched  her  my- 
self many  a  time.  Do  you  ever  see  cows 
dressed  in  gray  flannel  in  London  ? 

Captain  Brown  had  taken  a  small  house  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  town,  where  he  lived  with 
his  two  daughters.  He  must  have  been  upward 
of  sixty  at  the  time  of  the  first  visit  I  paid  to 
Cranford,  after  I  had  left  it  as  a  residence.  But 
he  had  a  wiry,  well-trained,  elastic  figure ;  a 
stiff  military  throw-back  of  his  head,  and  a 
springing  step,  which  made  him  appear  much 
younger  than  he  was.  His  eldest  daughter 
looked  almost  as  old  as  himself,  and  betrayed 
the  fact  that  his  real  was  more  than  his  appar- 
ent age.  Miss  Brown  must  have  been  forty ; 
she  had  a  sickly,  pained,  careworn  expres.sion 
on  her  face,  and  looked  as  if  the  gayety  of  youth 
had  long  faded  out  of  sight.  Even  when  j^oung 
she  must  have  been  plain  and  hard-featured. 
Miss  Jessie  Brown  was  ten  years  younger  than 
her  sister,  and   twenty  shades  prettier.     Her 


14  CrantorC>. 

face  was  round  and  dimpled.  Miss  Jenkyns 
once  said  in  a  passion  against  Captain  Brown 
(the  cause  of  which  I  will  tell  you  presently), 
"that  she  thought  it  was  time  for  Miss  Jessie 
to  leave  off  her  dimples,  and  not  always  to  be 
trying  to  look  like  a  child."  It  was  true  there 
was  something  childlike  in  her  face  ;  and  there 
will  be,  I  think,  till  she  dies,  though  she  should 
live  to  be  a  hundred.  Her  eyes  were  large  blue 
wondering  eyes,  looking  straight  at  you;  her 
nose  was  unformed  and  snub,  and  her  lips  were 
red  and  dewy;  she  wore  her  hair,  too,  in  little 
rows  of  curls,  which  heightened  this  appear- 
ance. I  do  not  know  if  she  was  pretty  or  not ; 
but  I  liked  her  face,  and  so  did  everybody,  and 
I  do  not  think  she  could  help  her  dimples.  She 
had  something  of  her  father's  jauntinessof  gait 
and  manner;  and  any  female  observer  might 
detect  a  slight  difference  in  the  attire  of  the 
two  sisters — that  of  Miss  Jessie  being  about 
two  pounds  per  annum  more  expensive  than 
Miss  Brown's.  Two  pounds  was  a  large  sum 
in  Captain  Brown's  annual  disbursements. 

Such  was  the  impression  made  upon  me  by 
the  Brown  family  when  I  first  saw  them  all 
together  in  Cranford  church.  The  captain  I 
had  met  before — on  the  occasion  of  the  smoky 
chimney,  which  he  had  cured  by  some  simple 
alteration  in  the  flue.  In  church,  he  held  his 
double  eye-glass  to  his  eyes  during  the  morning 
hymn,  and  then  lifted  up  his  head  erect,  and 
sang  out  loud  and  joyfully.     He  made  the  re- 


©ur  Society.  15 


sponses  louder  than  the  clerk — an  old  man  with 
a  piping  feeble  voice,  who,  I  think,  felt  ag- 
grieved at  the  Captain's  sonorous  bass,  and 
quavered  higher  and  higher  in  consequence. 

On  coming  out  of  church,  the  brisk  Captain 
paid  the  most  gallant  attention  to  his  two 
daughters.  He  nodded  and  smiled  to  his  ac- 
quaintances; but  he  shook  hands  with  none 
until  he  had  helped  Miss  Brown  to  unfurl  her 
umbrella,  had  relieved  her  of  her  praj^er-book, 
and  had  waited  patiently  till  she,  with  trem- 
bling, nervous  hands,  had  taken  up  her  gown 
to  walk  through  the  wet  roads. 

I  wondered  what  the  Cranford  ladies  did  with 
Captain  Brown  at  their  parties.  We  had  often 
rejoiced,  in  former  days,  that  there  was  no 
gentleman  to  be  attended  to,  and  to  find  con- 
versation for,  at  the  card-parties.  We  had 
congratulated  ourselves  upon  the  snugness  of 
the  evenings;  and,  in  our  love  for  gentility,  and 
distaste  of  mankind,  we  had  almost  persuaded 
ourselves  that  to  be  a  man  was  to  be  "  vulgar;" 
so  that  when  I  found  my  friend  and  hostess, 
Miss  Jenkyns,  was  going  to  have  a  party  in  my 
honor,  and  that  Captain  and  the  Miss  Browns 
were  invited,  I  wondered  much  what  would  be 
the  course  of  the  evening.  Card-tables,  with 
green-baize  tops,  were  set  out  by  daylight,  just 
as  usual ;  it  was  the  third  week  in  November, 
so  the  evenings  closed  in  about  four.  Candles 
and  clean  packs  of  cards  were  arranged  on  each 
table.     The  fire  was  made  up,  the  neat  maid- 


i6  CranforO. 

servant  had  received  her  last  directions ;  and, 
there  we  stood  dressed  in  our  best,  each  with  a 
candle-lighter  in  our  hands,  ready  to  dart  at 
the  candles  as  soon  as  the  first  knock  came. 
Parties  in  Cranford  were  solemn  festivities, 
making  the  ladies  feel  gravely  elated,  as  they 
sat  together  in  their  best  dresses.  As  soon  as 
three  had  arrived,  we  sat  down  to  "Prefer- 
ence," I  being  the  unlucky  fourth.  The  next 
four  comers  were  put  down  immediately  to  an- 
other table  ;  and  presently  the  tea-trays,  which 
I  had  seen  set  out  in  the  store-room  as  I  passed 
in  the  morning,  were  placed  each  on  the  middle 
of  a  card-table.  The  china  was  delicate  egg- 
shell ;  the  old-fashioned  silver  glittered  with 
polishing  ;  but  the  eatables  were  of  the  slight- 
est description.  While  the  trays  were  yet  on 
the  tables,  Captain  and  the  Miss  Browns  came 
in  ;  and  I  could  see  that  somehow  or  other  the 
Captain  was  a  favorite  with  all  the  ladies  pres- 
ent. Ruffled  brows  were  smoothed,  sharp 
voices  lowered  at  his  approach.  Miss  Browu 
looked  ill,  and  depressed  almost  to  gloom. 
Miss  Jessie  smiled  as  usual,  and  seemed  nearly 
as  popular  as  her  father.  He  immediately  and 
quickly  assumed  the  man's  place  in  the  room; 
attended  to  every  one's  wants,  lessened  the 
pretty  maid-servant's  labor  by  waiting  on 
empty  cups,  and  bread-and-butterless  ladies  ; 
and  yet  did  it  all  in  so  easy  and  dignified  a 
manner,  and  so  much  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of 
course  for  the  strong  to  attend  to  the  weak, 


©ur  Society.  17 


that  he  was  a  true  man  throughout.  He 
played  for  threepenny  points  with  as  grave  au 
interest  as  if  they  had  been  pounds  ;  and  yet  in 
all  his  attention  to  strangers  he  had  an  eye  on 
his  suffering  daughter ;  for  suffering  I  was  sure 
she  was,  though  to  many  eyes  she  might  only 
appear  to  be  irritable.  Miss  Jessie  could  nol 
play  cards  ;  but  she  talked  to  the  sitters-out, 
who,  before  her  coming,  had  been  rather  in- 
clined to  be  cross.  She  sang,  too,  to  an  old 
cracked  piano,  which  I  think  had  been  a  spinet 
in  its  youth.  Miss  Jessie  sang  /oc/:  of  Hazel- 
dean  a  little  out  of  tune  ;  but  we  were  none  of  us 
musical,  though  Miss  jenkyns  beat  time,  out 
of  time,  by  way  of  appearing  to  be  so. 

It  was  very  good  of  Miss  Jenkyns  to  do  this; 
for  I  had  seen  that,  a  little  before,  she  had  been 
a  good  deal  annoyed  by  Miss  Jessie  Brown's 
unguarded  admission  {apropos  of  Shetland 
wool)  that  she  had  au  uncle,  her  mother's 
brother,  who  was  a  shopkeeper  in  Edinburgh. 
Miss  Jenkyns  tried  to  drown  this  confession  by 
a  terrible  cough — for  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Jamie- 
son  was  sitting  at  the  card-table  nearest  Miss 
Jessie,  and  what  would  she  say  or  think,  if  she 
found  out  she  was  in  the  same  room  with  a 
shopkeeper's  niece  !  But  Miss  Jessie  Brown 
(who  had  no  tact,  as  we  all  agreed  the  next 
morning)  would  repeat  the  information,  and 
assure  Aliss  Pole  she  could  easily  get  her  the 
identical  Shetland  wool  required,  "  through 
my  uurle,  who  has  the  best  assortment  of  Shet- 
3 


1 8  GranforO. 

land  goods  of  any  one  in  Edinbro. ' '  It  was  to 
take  the  taste  of  this  out  of  our  mouths,  and 
the  sound  of  this  out  of  our  ears,  that  Miss 
Jenkyns  proposed  music;  so  I  say  again, 
it  was  very  good  of  her  to  beat  time  to  the 
song. 

When  the  trays  reappeared  with  biscuits  and 
wine,  punctually  at  a  quarter  to  nine,  there 
was  conversation;  comparing  of  cards,  and 
talking  over  tricks;  but  by  and  by  Captain 
Brown  sported  a  bit  of  literature, 

"  Have  you  seen  any  numbers  of  The  Pick- 
wick Papers  f '  said  he.  (They  were  then  pub- 
lishing in  parts.)     "  Capital  thing!" 

Now  Miss  Jenkyns  was  daughter  of  a  de- 
ceased rector  of  Cranford;  and,  on  the  strength 
of  a  number  of  manuscript  sermons,  and  a 
pretty  good  library  of  divinity,  considered  her- 
self literary,  and  looked  upon  any  conversa- 
tion about  books  as  a  challenge  to  her.  So 
she  answered  and  said:  "Yes,  she  had  seen 
them;  indeed,  she  might  say  she  had  read 
them." 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  them?"  ex- 
claimed Captain  Brown.  •  "Are  n't  they  fa- 
mously good?" 

So  urged,  Miss  Jenkyns  could  not  but  opeak. 

"  I  must  say  I  don't  think  they  are  by  any 
means  equal  to  Dr.  Johnson.  Still,  perhaps, 
the  author  is  young.  Let  him  persevere,  and 
who  knows  what  he  may  become  if  he  wil] 
take  the  great  Doctor  for  his  model."  This  was. 


©Ur  QOCiCt'Q,  ig 


evidently  too  much  for  Captain  Brown  to  take 
placidly;  and  I  saw  the  words  on  the  tip  of  his 
tongue  before  Miss  Jenkyns  had  finished  her 
sentence. 

"  It  is  quite  a  diiferent  sort  of  thing,  my  dear 
madam,"  he  began. 

' '  I  am  quite  aware  of  that, ' '  returned  she. 
"  And  I  make  allowances,  Captain  Brown." 

' '  Just  allow  me  to  read  you  a  scene  out  of 
this  month's  number,"  pleaded  he.  "  I  had  it 
onl}^  this  morning,  and  I  don't  think  the  com- 
pany can  have  read  it  yet." 

"  As  you  please,"  said  she,  settling  herself 
with  an  air  of  resignation.  He  read  the  account 
of  the  "  swarry  "  which  Sam  Weller  gave  at 
Bath.  Some  of  us  laughed  heartily.  /  did 
not  dare,  because  I  was  staying  in  the  house. 
Miss  Jenkyns  sat  in  patient  gravity.  When  it 
was  ended,  she  turned  to  me,  and  said  with 
mild  dignity: 

"Fetch  me  Rasselas,  my  dear,  out  of  the 
book  room." 

When  I  brought  it  to  her,  she  turned  to 
Captain  Brown: 

"Now  allow  r}ie  to  read  you  a  scene,  and 
then  the  present  company  can  judge  between 
your  favorite,  Mr.  Boz,  and  Dr.  Johnson." 

She  read  one  of  the  conversations  between 
Rasselas  and  Imlac,  in  a  high-pitched,  majes- 
tic voice;  and  when  she  had  ended,  she  said: 
"I  imagine  I  am  now  justified  in  my  prefer- 
ence of  Dr.  Johnson,  as  a  writer  of  fiction." 


20  GtantorO. 

The  Captain  screwed  his  lips  up,  and  drummed 
on  the  table,  but  he  did  not  speak.  She 
thought  she  would  give  a  finishing  blow  or 
two. 

"I  consider  it  vulgar,  and  below  the  dignity 
of  literature,  to  publish  in  numbers." 

' '  How  was  the  Rambler  published,  ma'am  ?' ' 
asked  Captain  Brown,  in  a  low  voice;  which  I 
think  Miss  Jenkyns  could  not  have  heard. 

"  Dr.  Johnson's  style  is  a  model  for  young 
beginners.  My  father  recommended  it  to  me 
when  I  began  to  write  letters.  I  have  formed 
my  own  style  upon  it ;  I  recommend  it  to  your 
favorite." 

' '  I  should  be  very  sorry  for  him  to  exchange 
his  style  for  any  such  pompous  writing,"  said 
Captain  Brown. 

Miss  Jenkyns  felt  this  as  a  personal  affront, 
in  a  way  which  the  Captain  had  not  dreamed. 
Epistolary  writing,  she  and  her  friends  consid- 
ered as  her  forte.  Many  a  copy  of  many  a 
letter  have  I  seen  written  and  corrected  on  the 
slate,  before  she  "seized  the  half-hour  just 
previous  to  post- time  to  assure  "  her  friends  of 
this  or  that ;  and  Dr.  Johnson  was,  as  she  said, 
her  model  in  these  compositions.  She  drew 
herself  up  with  dignity,  and  only  replied  to 
Captain  Brown's  last  remark  by  saying,  with 
marked  emphasis  on  every  syllable,  "  I  prefer 
Dr.  Johnson  to  Mr.  Boz." 

It  is  said — I  won't  vouch  for  the  fact — that 
Captain  Brown  was  heard  to  say,  soito  voce 


©ur  Sodcts.  21 


"  D — n  Dr.  Johnson  !"  If  he  did,  he  was  pen- 
itent afterward,  as  he  showed  by  going  to 
stand  near  Miss  Jenkyns'  arm-chair,  and  en- 
deavoring to  beguile  her  into  conversation  on 
some  more  pleasing  subject.  But  she  was  in- 
exorable. The  next  day  she  made  the  remark 
1  have  mentioned  about  Miss  Jessie's  dimples. 


CHAPTER  11. 

THE  CAPTAIN. 

IT  was  impossible  to  live  a  month  at  Cranford 
and  not  know  the  daily  habits  of  each  resi- 
dent; and  long  before  my  visit  was  ended,  I 
knew  much  concerning  the  whole  Brown  trio. 
There  was  nothing  new  to  be  discovered  re- 
specting their  poverty;  for  thej'^  had  spoken 
simply  and  openly  about  that  from  the  very 
first.  They  made  no  mystery  of  the  necessity 
for  their  being  economical.  All  that  remained 
to  be  discovered  was  the  Captain's  infinite 
kindness  of  heart,  and  the  various  modes  in 
which,  unconsciously  to  himself,  he  manifested 
it.  Some  little  anecdotes  were  talked  about  for 
some  time  after  they  occurred.  As  we  did  not 
read  much,  and  as  all  the  ladies  were  pretty 
well  suited  with  servants,  there  was  a  dearth 
of  subjects  for  conversation.  We  therefore  dis- 
cussed the  circumstance  of  the  Captain  taking 
a  poor  old  woman's  dinner  out  of  her  hands, 
one  very  slippery  Sunday.  He  had  met  her 
returning  from  the  bakehouse  as  he  came  from 
church,  and  noticed  her  precarious  footing; 
and,  with  the  grave  dignity  with  which  he  did 
everything,  he  relieved  her  of  her  burden,  and 
steered  along  the  street  by  her  side,  carrying 

(22) 


tTbe  Captain.  23 


her  baked  mutton  and  potatoes  safely  home. 
This  was  thought  very  eccentric;  and  it  was 
rather  expected  that  he  would  pay  a  round  of 
calls,  on  the  Monday  morning,  to  explain  and 
apologize  to  the  Cranford  sense  of  propriety; 
but  he  did  no  such  thing;  and  then  it  was 
decided  that  he  was  ashamed,  and  was  keep- 
ing out  of  sight.  In  a  kindly  pity  for  him, 
we  began  to  say:  "After  all,  the  Sunday  morn- 
ing's occurrence  showed  great  goodness  of 
heart;"  and  it  was  resolved  that  he  should  be 
comforted  on  his  next  appearance  among  us- 
but,  lo!  he  came  down  upon  us,  untouched  by 
any  sense  of  shame,  speaking  loud  and  bass  as 
ever,  his  head  thrown  back,  his  wig  as  jaunty 
and  well-curled  as  usual,  and  we  were  obliged 
to  conclude  he  had  forgotten  all  about  Sunday. 
Miss  Pole  and  Miss  Jessie  Brown  had  set  up 
a  kind  of  intimacy,  on  the  strength  of  the 
Shetland  wool  and  the  new  knitting  stitches; 
so  it  happened  that  when  I  went  to  visit  Miss 
Pole,  I  saw  more  of  the  Browns  than  I  had 
done  while  staying  with  Miss  Jenkyns ;  who 
had  never  got  over  what  she  called  Captain 
Brown's  disparaging  remarks  upon  Dr.  John- 
son, as  a  writer  of  light  and  agreeable  fiction. 
I  found  that  Miss  Brown  was  seriously  ill  of 
some  lingering,  incurable  complaint,  the  pain 
occasioned  by  which  gave  the  uneasy  expres- 
sion to  her  face  that  I  had  taken  for  unmiti- 
gated crossness.  Cross,  too,  she  was  at  times, 
when  the  nervous  irritability  occasioned  by  her 


24 


CrantorO. 


disease  became  past  endurance.  Miss  Jessie 
bore  with  her  at  these  times  even  more 
patiently  than  she  did  with  the  Mtter  self- 
upbraidings  by  which  they  were  invariably 
succeeded.  Miss  Brown  used  to  accuse  herself, 
not  merely  of  hasty  and  irritable  temper  ;  but 
also  of  being  the  cause  why  her  father  and 
sister  were  obliged  to  pinch,  in  order  to  allow 
her  the  small  luxuries  which  were  necessaries 
in  her  condition.  She  would  so  fain  have  made 
sacrifices  for  them  and  have  lightened  their 
cares,  that  the  original  generosity  of  her  dispo- 
sition added  acerbity  to  her  temper.  All  this 
was  borne  by  Miss  Jessie  and  her  father  with 
more  than  placidity — with  absolute  tenderness. 
I  forgave  Sliss  Jessie  her  singing  out  of  tune, 
and  her  juvenility  of  dress,  when  I  saw  her 
at  home.  I  came  to  perceive  that  Captain 
Brown's  dark  Brutus  wig  and  padded  coat 
(alas  !  too  often  threadbare)  were  remnants  of 
the  military  smartness  of  his  youth,  which  he 
now  wore  unconsciously.  He  was  a  man  of 
infinite  resources,  gained  in  his  barrack  experi- 
ence. As  he  confessed,  no  one  could  black  his 
boots  to  please  him,  except  himself;  but,  in- 
deed, he  was  not  above  saving  the  little  maid- 
servant's labors  in  every  way — knowing,  most 
likely,  that  his  daughter's  illness  made  the 
place  a  hard  one. 

He  endeavored  to  make  peace  with  Miss 
Jenkyns  soon  after  the  memorable  dispute  I 
have  named,  by  a  present  of  a  wooden  fire- 


Zbe  Captain.  25 


shovel  (his  own  making),  having  heard  her  say 
how  much  the  grating  of  an  iron  one  annoyed 
her.  She  received  the  present  with  cool  grati- 
tude, and  thanked  him  formally.  When  he  was 
gone,  she  bade  me  put  it  away  in  the  lumber 
room  ;  feeling,  probably,  that  no  present  from 
a  man  who  preferred  Mr.  Boz  to  Dr.  Johnson 
could  be  less  jarring  than  an  iron  fire-shovel. 

Such  was  the  state  of  things  when  I  left 
Cranford  and  went  to  Drumble.  I  had,  how- 
ever, several  correspondents  who  kept  me  au 
fait  as  to  the  proceedings  of  the  dear  little  town. 
There  was  Miss  Pole,  who  was  becoming  as 
much  absorbed  in  crochet  as  she  had  been 
once  in  knitting  ;  and  the  burden  of  whose 
letter  was  something  like,  "But  don't  you  for- 
get the  white  worsted  at  Flint's,"  of  the  old 
song;  for  at  the  end  of  every  sentence  of  news 
came  a  fresh  direction  as  to  some  crochet  com- 
mission which  I  was  to  execute  for  her.  Miss 
Matilda  Jenkyns  (who  did  not  mind  being 
called  Miss  Matty  when  Miss  Jenkyns  was  not 
by)  wrote  nice,  kind,  rambling  letters;  now  and 
then  venturing  into  an  opinion  of  her  own, 
but  suddenly  pulling  herself  up  and  either 
begging  me  not  to  name  what  she  had  said, 
as  Deborah  thought  diiferently,  and  she  knew; 
or  else,  putting  in  a  postscript  to  the  effect 
that,  since  writing  the  above,  she  had  been 
talking  over  the  subject  with  Deborah,  and 
was  quite  convinced  that,  etc.; — (here,  prob- 
ably, followed  a  recantation  of  every  opinioo 


26  CranforO. 

she  had  given  in  the  letter.)  Then  came  Miss 
Jenkyns — Deborah,  as  she  liked  Miss  Matt}'  to 
call  her;  her  father  having  once  said  that  the 
Hebrew  name  ought  to  be  so  pronounced.  1 
secretly  think  she  took  the  Hebrew  prophetess 
for  a  model  in  character;  and,  indeed,  she  was 
not  unlike  the  stern  prophetess  in  some  waj's; 
making  allowance,  of  course,  for  modem  cus- 
toms and  difference  in  dress.  Miss  Jenkyns 
wore  a  cravat  and  a  little  bonnet  like  a  jockey- 
cap,  and  altogether  had  the  appearance  of  a 
strong-minded  woman;  although  she  would 
have  despised  the  modern  idea  of  women  being 
equal  to  men.  Equal,  indeed!  she  knew  they 
were  superior.  But  to  return  to  her  letters. 
Everything  in  them  was  stately  and  grand  like 
herself.  I  have  been  looking  them  over  (dear 
Miss  Jenkyns,  how  I  honored  her!)  and  I  will 
give  an  extract,  more  especially  because  it  re- 
lates to  our  friend  Captain  Brown: 

"The  Honorable  Mrs.  Jamieson  has  only  just 
quitted  me;  and,  in  the  course  of  conversation, 
she  communicated  to  me  the  intelligence  that 
she  had  yesterday  received  a  call  from  her 
revered  husband's  quondam  friend.  Lord  Maul- 
everer.  You  will  not  easily  conjecture  what 
brought  his  Lordship  within  the  precincts  of 
our  little  tov/n.  It  was  to  see  Captain  Brown, 
with  whom,  it  appears,  his  Lordship  was  ac- 
quainted in  the  'plumed  wars,'  and  who  had 
the  privilege  of  averting  destruction  from  hia 
Lordship's  head,  when  some  great  peril  was 


Zbc  Caprain.  27 


impending  over  it,  off  the  misnomered  Cape  of 
Good  Hope.  You  know  our  friend  the  Honor- 
able Mrs.  Janaieson's  deficiencjMn  the  spirit  of 
innocent  curiosit}';  and  you  will  therefore  not 
be  so  much  surprised  when  I  tell  you  she  was 
quite  unable  to  disclose  to  me  the  exact  nature 
of  the  peril  in  question.  I  was  anxious,  I  con- 
fess, to  ascertain  in  what  manner  Captain 
Brown,  with  his  limited  establishment,  could 
receive  so  distinguished  a  guest,  and  I  discov- 
ered that  his  Lordship  retired  to  rest,  and,  let 
us  hope,  to  refreshing  slumbers,  at  the  Angel 
Hotel,  but  shared  the  Brunonian  meals  during 
the  two  days  that  he  honored  Cranford  with 
his  august  presence.  Mrs.  Johnson,  our  civil 
butcher's  wife,  informs  me  that  Miss  Jessie 
purchased  a  leg  of  lamb ;  but  besides  this,  I 
can  hear  of  no  preparation  whatever  to  give  a 
suitable  reception  to  so  distinguished  a  visitor. 
Perhaps  they  entertained  him  with  '  the  feast 
of  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul ' ;  and  to  us,  who 
are  acquainted  with  Captain  Brown's  sad  want 
of  relish  for  '  the  pure  wells  of  English  unde- 
filed,'  it  may  be  matter  for  congratulation  that 
he  has  had  the  opportunity  of  improving  his 
taste  by  holding  converse  with  an  elegant  and 
refined  member  of  the  British  aristocracy. 
But  from  some  mundane  feeling  who  is  free  ?" 
Miss  Pole  and  Miss  Matty  wrote  to  me  by 
the  same  post.  Such  a  piece  of  news  as  Lord 
Mauleverer's  visit  was  not  to  be  lost  on  the 
Cranford  letter-writers ;  they  made  the  most  of 


78  CranforD. 

it.  Miss  Matty  humbly  apologized  for  writing 
at  the  same  time  as  her  sister,  who  was  so 
much  more  capable  than  she  to  describe  the 
honor  done  to  Cranford  ;  but,  in  spite  of  a  little 
bad  spelling.  Miss  Matty's  account  gave  me 
the  best  idea  of  the  commotion  occasioned  by 
his  lordship's  visit,  after  it  had  occurred ;  for, 
except  the  people  at  the  Angel,  the  Browns, 
Mrs.  Jamieson,  and  a  little  lad  his  lordship  had 
sworn  at  for  driving  a  dirty  hoop  against  the 
aristocratic  legs,  I  could  not  hear  of  any  one 
with  whom  his  lordship  had  held  conversa- 
tion. 

My  next  visit  to  Cranford  was  in  the  sum- 
mer. There  had  been  neither  births,  deaths, 
nor  marriages  since  I  was  there  last.  Every- 
body lived  in  the  same  house,  and  wore  pretty 
nearly  the  same  well-preserved,  old-fashioned 
clothes.  The  greatest  event  was,  that  Miss 
Jenkyns  had  purchased  a  new  carpet  for  the 
drawing-room.  Oh,  the  busy  work  Miss 
Matty  and  I  had  in  chasing  the  sunbeams,  as 
they  fell  in  an  afternoon  right  down  on  this 
carpet  through  the  blindless  window !  We 
spread  newspapers  over  the  places,  and  sat 
down  to  our  book  or  our  work;  and,  lo!  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  the  sun  had  moved,  and 
was  blazing  away  on  a  fresh  spot ;  and  down 
again  we  went  on  our  knees  to  alter  the  posi- 
tion of  the  newspapers.  We  were  very  busy, 
too,  one  whole  morning  before  Miss  Jenkyns 
gave  her  party,  in   following   her  directions, 


Zbe  Captain.  29 


and  in  cutting  out  and  stitching  together 
pieces  of  newspaper,  so  as  to  form  little  paths 
to  every  chair,  set  for  the  expected  visitors,  lest 
their  shoes  might  dirty  or  defile  the  purity  of 
the  carpet.  Do  you  make  paper  paths  for 
every  guest  to  walk  upon  in  London? 

Captain  Brown  and  Miss  Jenkyns  were  not 
very  cordial  to  each  other.  The  literary  dis- 
pute, of  which  I  had  seen  the  beginning,  was  a 
"raw,"  the  slightest  touch  on  which  made 
them  wince.  It  was  the  only  difference  of 
opinion  they  had  ever  had ;  but  that  difference 
was  enough.  Miss  Jenkyns  could  not  refrain 
from  talking  at  Captain  Brown ;  and  though 
he  did  not  reply,  he  drummed  with  his  fingers ; 
which  action  she  felt  and  resented  as  very  dis- 
paraging to  Dr.  Johnson.  He  was  rather 
ostentatious  in  his  preference  of  the  writings 
of  Mr.  Boz  ;  would  walk  through  the  streets 
so  absorbed  in  them,  that  he  all  but  ran 
against  Miss  Jenkyns  ;  and  though  his  apolo- 
gies were  earnest  and  sincere,  and  though  he 
did  not,  in  fact,  do  more  than  startle  her  and 
himself,  she  owned  to  me  she  had  rather  he 
had  knocked  her  down,  if  he  had  only  been 
reading  a  higher  style  of  literature.  The 
poor,  brave  Captain  !  he  looked  older,  and 
more  worn,  and  his  clothes  were  very  thread- 
bare. But  he  seemed  as  bright  and  cheerful  as 
ever,  unless  he  was  asked  about  his  daughter's 
health. 

"  She  suffers  a  great  deal,  and  she  must  suf- 


30 


CrantorD. 


fer  more ;  we  do  what  we  can  to_  alleviate  her 
pain — God's  will  be  done!"  He  took  off  his 
hat  at  these  last  words.  I  found,  from  Miss 
Matty,  that  ever>'thing  had  been  done,  in  fact. 
A  medical  man,  of  high  repute  in  that  country- 
neighborhood,  had  been  sent  for,  and  every  in- 
junction he  had  given  was  attended  to,  regard- 
less of  expense.  Miss  Matty  was  sure  they 
denied  themselves  many  things  in  order  to 
make  the  invalid  comfortable  ;  but  they  never 
spoke  about  it ;  and  as  for  Miss  Jessie !  "I 
really  think  she's  an  angel,''  said  poor  Miss 
Matty,  quite  overcome.  "To  see  her  way  of 
bearing  with  Miss  Brown's  crossness,  and  the 
bright  face  she  puts  on  after  she's  been  sitting 
up  a  whole  night,  and  scolded  above  half  of  it, 
is  quite  beautitul.  Yet  she  looks  as  neat  aud 
as  ready  to  welcome  the  Captain  at  breakfast- 
time,  as  if  she  had  been  asleep  in  the  queen's 
bed  all  night.  My  dear !  you  could  never 
laugh  at  her  prim  little  curls  or  her  pink  bows 
again,  if  j-ou  saw  her  as  I  have  done."  I 
could  only  feel  verj'  penitent,  and  greet  Miss 
Jessie  with  double  respect  when  I  met  her 
next.  She  looked  faded  and  pinched ;  and 
her  lips  began  to  quiver,  as  if  she  was  very 
weak,  when  she  spoke  of  her  sister.  But  she 
brightened,  and  sent  back  the  tears  that  were 
glittering  in  her  pretty  eyes,  as  she  said: 

' '  But,  to  be  sure,  what  a  town  Cranford  is 
for  kindness!  I  don't  suppose  any  one  has  a 
better  dinner  than  usual  cooked,  but  the  best 


Zbe  Captain.  31 


part  of  all  comes  in  a  little  covered  basin  for 
my  sister.  The  poor  people  will  leave  their 
earliest  vegetables  at  our  door  for  her.  They 
speak  short  and  gruff,  as  if  they  were  ashamed 
of  it;  but  I  am  sure  it  often  goes  to  my  heart 
to  see  their  thoughtfulness."  The  tears  now 
came  back  and  overflowed;  but  after  a  minute 
or  two  she  began  to  scold  herself,  and  ended 
by  going  away,  the  same  cheerful  Miss  Jessie 
as  ever. 

"But  why  does  not  this  Lord  Maulevererdo 
something  for  the  man  who  saved  his  life?" 
said  I. 

"Why,  you  see,  unless  Captain  Brown  has 
some  reason  for  it  he  never  speaks  about  being 
poor;  and  he  walked  along  by  his  lordship, 
looking  as  happy  and  cheerful  as  a  prince; 
and  as  they  never  called  attention  to  their 
dinner  by  apologies,  and  as  Miss  Brown  was 
better  that  day,  and  all  seemed  bright,  I  dare 
say  his  lordship  never  knew  how  much  care 
there  was  in  the  background.  He  did  send 
game  in  the  winter  pretty  often,  but  now  he  is 
gone  abroad." 

I  had  often  occasion  to  notice  the  use  that 
was  made  of  fragments  and  small  opportunities 
in  Cranford;  the  rose-leaves  that  were  gathered 
ere  they  fell,  to  make  into  a  pot-pourri  for  some 
one  who  had  no  garden;  the  little  bundles  of 
lavender  flowers  sent  to  strew  the  drawers  of 
some  town-dweller,  or  to  burn  in  the  chamber 
of  some  invalid.     Things  that  many  would  de- 


32 


CrantorJ), 


spise,  and  actions  which  it  seemed  scarcely 
worth  while  to  perform,  were  all  attended  to  in 
Crauford.  Miss  Jeukyns  stuck  an  apple  full 
of  cloves,  to  be  heated  and  smell  pleasantly  in 
Miss  Brown's  room;  and  as  she  put  in  each 
clove,  she  uttered  a  Johnsonian  sentence.  In- 
deed, she  never  could  think  of  the  Browns  with- 
out talking  Johnson;  and  as  they  were  seldom 
absent  from  her  thoughts  just  then,  I  heard 
many  a  rolling  three-piled  sentence. 

Captain  Brown  called  one  day  to  thank  Miss 
Jenkyns  for  many  little  kindnesses,  which  I  did 
not  know  until  then  that  she  had  rendered. 
He  had  suddenly  become  like  an  old  man;  his 
deep  bass  voice  had  a  quavering  in  it;  his  eyes 
looked  dim,  and  the  lines  on  his  face  were  deep. 
He  did  not — could  not — speak  cheerfully  of  his 
daughter's  state,  but  he  talked  with  manly, 
pious  resignation,  and  not  much.  Twice  over 
he  said,  "What  Jessie  has  been  to  us,  God 
only  knows!"  and  after  the  second  time,  he  got 
up  hastilj',  shook  hands  all  round  witiiout 
speaking,  and  left  the  room. 

That  afternoon  we  perceived  little  groups  in 
the  street,  all  listening  with  faces  aghast  to 
some  tale  or  other.  Miss  Jenkyns  wondered 
what  could  be  the  matter,  for  some  tmie  before 
she  took  th^  undignified  step  of  sending  Jenny 
out  to  inquire. 

Jenny  came  back  with  a  white  face  of  terror. 
"Oh,  ma'am!  oh,  Miss  Jenkyns,  ma'am!  Cap- 
tain Brown  is  killed  by  them  nasty  cruel  rail 


Zbc  Captain.  33 

roads!'  and  she  burst  into  tears.  She,  along 
with  many  others,  had  experienced  the  poor 
Captain's  kindness. 

"  How?  where — where  ?  Good  God!  Jenny, 
don't  waste  time  in  crying,  but  tell  us  some- 
thing?" Miss  Matty  rushed  out  into  the  street 
at  once,  and  collared  the  man  who  was  telling 
the  tale. 

"Come  in — come  to  my  sister  at  once — Misj 
Jenkyns,  the  rector's  daughter.  Oh,  man, 
man!  say  it  is  not  true,"  she  cried,  as  she 
brought  the  affrighted  carter,  sleeking  down 
his  hair,  into  the  drawing-room,  where  he 
stood  with  his  wet  boots  on  the  new  carpet, 
and  no  one  regarded  it. 

"  Please,  mum,  it  is  true.  I  seed  it  myself." 
and  he  shuddered  at  the  recollection.  "The 
Captain  was  a-reading  some  new  book  as  he 
was  deep  in,  awaiting  for  the  down  train  ;  and 
there  was  a  little  lass  as  wanted  to  come  to  its 
mammy,  and  gave  its  sister  the  slip,  and  came 
toddling  across  the  line.  And  he  looked  up 
sudden  at  the  sound  of  the  train  coming,  and 
seed  the  child,  and  he  darted  on  the  line  and 
cotched  it  up,  and  his  foot  slipped,  and  the 
train  came  over  him  in  no  time.  Oh,  Lord, 
Lord!  Mum,  it's  quite  true — and  they've  come 
over  to  tell  his  daughters.  The  child's  safe, 
though,  with  only  a  bang  on  its  shoulder,  as 
he  threw  it  to  its  mammy.  Poor  Captain 
would  be  glad  of  that,  mum,  would  not  he? 
God  bless  him!"  The  great  rough  carter 
3 


34  GranforD. 

puckered  up  his  manly  face  aud  turned  away 
to  hide  his  tears.  I  turned  to  Miss  Jenkyns, 
She  looked  verj-  ill,  as  if  she  were  going  to 
faint,  and  signed  to  me  to  open  the  window. 

"  Matilda,  bring  me  ray  bonnet.  I  must  go 
to  those  girls.  God  pardon  me  if  ever  I  have 
spoken  contemptuously  to  the  Captain!" 

Miss  Jenkyns  arrayed  herself  to  go  out,  tell- 
ing Miss  Matilda  to  give  the  man  a  glass  of 
wine.  While  she  was  away  Miss  Matt}'  and 
I  huddled  over  the  fire,  talking  in  a  low  and 
awe-struck  voice.  I  know  we  cried  quietly  all 
the  time. 

Miss  Jenkyns  came  home  in  a  silent  mood, 
and  we  durst  not  ask  her  any  questions.  She 
told  us  that  Miss  Jessie  had  fainted,  and  that 
she  and  Miss  Pole  had  had  some  difficulty  in 
bringing  her  round ;  but  that,  as  soon  as  .she 
recovered,  she  begged  one  of  them  to  go  aud 
sit  with  her  sister. 

"Mr.  Hoggins  says  she  cannot  live  many 
days,  aud  she  shall  be  spared  this  shock,"  said 
Miss  Jessie,  shivering  with  feelings  to  which 
she  dared  not  give  way. 

"But  how  can  you  manage,  my  dear?" 
asked  Miss  Jenkyns;  "  j-ou  cannot  bear  up, 
she  must  see  your  tears. ' ' 

"Godwin  help  me — I  will  not  give  way — 
she  was  asleep  when  the  news  came  ;  she  may 
be  asleep  yet.  She  would  be  so  utterly  miser- 
able, not  merely  at  my  father's  death,  but  to 
think  of  what  would  become  of  me  ;  she  is  so 


^be  Captain.  35 


good  to  me."  She  looked  up  earnestly  in  their 
faces  with  her  soft  true  eyes,  and  Miss  Pole 
told  Miss  Jenkj-ns  afterward  she  could  hardly 
bear  it,  knowing,  as  she  did,  how  Miss  Brown 
treated  her  sister. 

However,  it  was  settled  according  to  Miss 
Jessie's  wish.  Miss  Brown  was  to  be  told  her 
father  had  been  summoned  to  take  a  short  jour- 
ney on  railway  business.  They  had  managed 
it  in  some  way — Miss  Jenkyns  could  not  exactly 
say  how.  Miss  Pole  was  to  stop  with  Miss 
Jessie.  Mrs.  Jamiesou  had  sent  to  inquire. 
And  this  was  all  we  heard  that  night ;  and  a 
sorrowful  night  it  was.  The  next  da}^  a  full 
account  of  the  fatal  accident  was  in  the  coun- 
try paper,  which  Miss  Jenkyns  todk  in.  Her 
eyes  were  very  weak,  she  said,  and  she  asked 
me  to  read  it.  When  I  came  to  the  "gallant 
gentleman  was  deeply  engaged  in  the  perusal 
of  a  number  oi  Pickwick,  which  he  had  just  re- 
ceived," Miss  Jenkins  shook  her  head  long 
and  solemnly,  and  then  sighed  out,  "Poor, 
dear,  infatuated  man." 

The  corpse  was  to  be  taken  from  the  station 
to  the  parish  church,  there  to  be  interred. 
Miss  Jessie  had  set  her  heart  on  following  it  to 
the  grave,  and  no  dissuasives  could  alter  her 
resolve.  Her  restraint  upon  herself  made  her 
almost  obstinate ;  she  resisted  ail  Miss  Pole's 
entreaties,  and  Miss  Jenkyns'  advice.  At  last 
Miss  Jenkjais  gave  up  the  point ;  and  after  a 
silence,  which  I  feared  portended  some  deep 


36  GiantorO. 

displeasure  against  Miss  Jessie,  Miss  Jeukyns 
said  she  should  accompany  the  latter  to  the 
funeral. 

"It  is  not  fit  for  you  to  go  alone.  It  would 
be  against  both  propriety  and  humanity  were 
I  to  allow  it." 

Miss  Jessie  seemed  as  if  she  did  not  half  like 
this  arrangement ;  but  her  obstinacy,  if  she  had 
any,  had  been  exhausted  in  her  determination 
to  go  to  the  interment.  She  longed,  poor  thing  ! 
I  have  no  doubt,  to  cry  alone  over  the  grave  of 
the  dear  father  to  whom  she  had  been  all  in  all ; 
and  to  give  way,  for  one  little  half  hour,  unin- 
terrupted by  sympathy,  and  unobserved  by 
friendship.  But  it  was  not  to  be.  That  after- 
noon Miss  Jenkyns  sent  out  for  a  yard  of  black 
crape,  and  employed  herself  busily  in  trimming 
the  little  black  silk  bonnet  I  have  spoken  about. 
When  it  was  finished  she  put  it  on,  and  looked 
at  us  for  approbation — admiration  she  despised. 
I  was  full  of  sorrow;  but,  by  one  of  those 
whimsical  thoughts  which  come  unbidden  into 
our  heads,  in  times  of  deepest  grief,  I  no  sooner 
saw  the  bonnet  than  I  was  reminded  of  a  hel- 
met; and  in  that  hybrid  bonnet,  half  helmet, 
half  jockey-cap,  did  Miss  Jenkyns  attend  Cap- 
tain Brown's  funeral,  and  I  believe  supported 
Miss  Jessie  with  a  tender  indulgent  firmness 
which  was  invaluable,  allowing  her  to  weep 
her  passionate  fill  before  they  left. 

Miss  Pole,  Miss  Matty,  and  I,  meanwhile, 
attended  to  Miss  Brown:  and  hard  work  we 


Zbc  Captain.  37 


found  it  to  relieve  her  querulous  aud  never- 
ending  complaints.  But  if  we  were  so  weary 
and  dispirited,  what  must  ?/Iiss  Jessie  have 
been!  Yet  she  came  back  almost  calm,  as  if 
she  had  gained  a  new  strength.  She  put  off 
her  mourning  dress,  and  came  in  looking  pale 
aud  gentle,  thanking  us  each  with  a  soft,  long 
pressure  of  the  hand.  She  could  even  smile — 
a  faint,  sweet,  wintery  smile,  as  if  to  reassure 
us  of  her  power  to  endure;  but  her  look  made 
our  eyes  fill  suddenly  with  tears,  more  than  if 
she  had  cried  outright. 

It  was  settled  that  Miss  Pole  was  to  remain 
with  her  all  the  watching,  livelong  night;  and 
that  Miss  Matty  and  I  were  to  return  in  the 
morning  to  relieve  them,  and  give  Miss  Jessie 
the  opportunity  for  a  few  hours  of  sleep.  But 
when  the  morning  came,  Miss  Jenkyns  ap- 
peared at  the  breakfast-table,  equipped  iu  her 
helmet  bonnet,  and  ordered  Miss  Matty  to  stay 
at  home,  as  she  meant  to  go  and  help  to  nurse. 
She  was  evidently  in  a  state  of  great  friendly 
excitement,  which  she  showed  by  eating  her 
breakfast  standing,  and  .scolding  the  household 
all  round. 

No  nursing — no  energetic  strong-minded 
woman — could  help  Miss  Brown  now.  There 
was  that  in  the  room  as  we  entered,  which  was 
stronger  than  us  all,  and  made  us  shrink  into 
solemn,  awf -.struck  helplessness.  Miss  Brown 
was  dying.  We  hardly  knew  her  voice,  it  was 
so   devoid  of  the   complaining   tone  we   had 


38  GranforO. 

alwaj's  associated  with  it.  Miss  Jessie  told  me 
.afterward  that  it,  and  her  face,  too,  were  just 
what  they  had  beeu  formerly,  when  her  moth- 
er's death  left  her  the  young  anxious  head  of 
the  family,  of  whom  only  Miss  Jessie  survived. 

She  was  conscious  of  her  sister's  presence, 
though  not,  I  think,  of  ours.  We  stood  a  little 
behind  the  curtain.  Miss  Jessie  knelt,  with 
her  face  near  her  sister's,  in  order  to  catch  the 
last  soft,  awful  whispers 

"Oh,  Jessie!  Jessie!  How  selfish  I  have 
been!  God  forgive  me  for  letting  3- ou  sacrifice 
yourself  for  me  as  5'ou  did.  I  have  so  loved 
3'ou — and  \'et  I  have  thought  only  of  myself, 
God  forgive  me!" 

"Hush,  love!  hush!"  said  Mi.ss  Jessie,  sob- 
bing. 

"And  my  father!  my  dear,  dear  father!  I 
will  not  complain  now,  if  God  will  give  me 
strength  to  be  patient.  But,  oh,  Jessie!  tell 
ray  father  how  I  longed  and  yearned  to  see  him 
at  last,  and  to  ask  his  forgiveness.  He  can 
never  know  now  how  I  loved  him — oh!  if  I 
might  but  tell  him,  before  I  die;  what  a  life  of 
.sorrow  his  has  been,  and  I  have  done  so  little 
to  cheer  him!" 

A  light  came  into  Miss  Jessie's  face. 
"  Would  it  comfort  you,  dearest,  to  think  that 
he  does  know?  Would  it  comfort  you,  love,  to 
know  that  his  cares,  his  sorrows — "  Her 
voice  quivered;  but  she  steadied  it  mto  calm- 
ness.    ' '  Mary  I  he  has  gone  before  you  to  the 


tTbc  Captain.  39 


place  where  the  weary  are  at  rest.  He  knows 
now  how  you  loved  hira." 

A  strange  look,  which  was  not  distress,  came 
over  Miss  Brown's  face.  She  did  not  speak  for 
some  time,  but  then  we  saw  her  lips  form  the 
words,  rather  than  heard  the  sound — "Father 
mother,  Harry,  Archy!" — then,  as  if  it  was  a 
new  idea  throwing  a  filmy  shadow  over  her 
darkened  mind — "  But  you  will  be  alone — 
Jessie!" 

Miss  Jessie  had  been  feeling  this  all  during 
the  silence;  I  think;  for  the  tears  rolled  down 
her  cheeks  like  rain,  at  these  words;  and  she 
could  not  answer  at  first.  Then  she  put  her 
hands  together  tight,  and  lifted  them  up,  and 
said — but  not  to  us: 

"Though  He  slay  me,  j^et  will  I  trust  in 
Him." 

In  a  few  moment;,  Tiore,  Miss  Brown  lay  calm 
and  still,  never  to  sorrow  or  murmur  more. 

After  this  second  funeral.  Miss  Jenkyns  in- 
sisted that  Miss  Jessie  should  come  to  stay  with 
her,  rather  than  go  back  to  the  desolate  house; 
which,  in  fact,  we  learned  from  Miss  Jessie, 
must  now  be  given  up,  as  she  had  not  where- 
withal to  maintain  it.  She  had  something 
about  twenty  pounds  a  year,  besides  the  inter- 
est of  the  money  for  which  the  furniture  would 
sell,  but  she  could  not  live  upon  that;  and  so 
we  talked  over  her  qualifications  for  earning 
money. 

"I  can  sew  neaU}',"  said  she,  "and  I  like 


40 


CranforO. 


nursing.  I  think,  too,  I  could  manage  a 
house,  if  any  one  would  try  me  as  house- 
keeper; or  I  would  go  into  a  shop  as  sales- 
woman if  they  would  have  patience  with  me 
at  first." 

Miss  Jenkyns  declared,  in  an  angry  voice, 
that  she  should  do  no  such  thing;  and  talked 
to  herself  about  "some  people  having  no  idea 
of  their  rank  as  a  captain's  daughter,"  nearly 
an  hour  afterward,  when  she  brought  Miss 
Jessie  up  a  basin  of  delicately  made  arrow-root, 
and  stood  over  her  like  a  dragoon  until  the  last 
spoonful  was  finished:  then  she  disappeared. 
Miss  Jessie  began  to  tell  me  some  more  of 
the  plans  which  had  suggested  themselves  to 
her,  and  insensibly  fell  into  talking  of  the  days 
that  were  past  and  gone,  and  interested  me  so 
much,  I  neither  knew  nor  heeded  how  time 
passed.  We  were  both  startled  when  Miss 
Jenkyns  reappeared,  and  caught  us  crying.  I 
was  afraid  lest  she  would  be  displeased,  as  she 
often  said  that  cr>'ing  hindered  digestion,  and  I 
knew  she  wanted  Miss  Jessie  to  get  strong ; 
but,  instead,  she  looked  queer  and  excited,  and 
fidgeted  round  us  without  saying  anything.  At 
last  she  spoke.  ' '  I  have  been  so  much  startled 
— no,  I've  not  been  at  all  startled — don't 
mind  me,  my  dear  Miss  Jessie — I've  been  very 
much  surprised — in  fact,  I've  had  a  caller, 
whom  you  knew  once,  my  dear  Miss  Jessie " 

Miss  Jessie  went  very  w^hite,  then  flushed 
scarlet,  and  looked  eagerly  at  Miss  Jenkyns — 


XLbc  Gaptam.  41 


"  A  gentleman,  my  dear,  who  wants  to  know 
if  you  would  see  liim." 

"  Is  it?  it  is  not "  stammered  out  Miss 

Jessie,  and  got  no  farther. 

"This  is  his  card,"  said  Miss  Jenkyns,  giv- 
ing it  to  Miss  Jessie ;  and  while  her  head  was 
bent  over  it  Miss  Jenkyns  went  through  a 
series  of  winks  and  odd  faces  to  me,  and  formed 
her  lips  into  a  long  sentence,  of  which,  of 
course,  I  could  not  understand  a  word. 

"  May  he  come  up  ?"  asked  Miss  Jenkyns  at 
last. 

"Oh,  yes!  certainly!"  said  Miss  Jessie,  as 
much  as  to  say,  this  is  your  house,  you  may 
show  any  visitor  where  you  like.  She  took  up 
some  knitting  of  Miss  Matty's  and  began  to  be 
very  busy,  though  I  could  see  how  she 
trembled  all  over. 

Miss  Jenkyns  rang  the  bell,  and  told  the 
servant  who  answered  it  to  show  Major  Gordon 
up-stairs;  and  present!}-  in  walked  a  tall,  fine, 
frank-looking  man  of  forty,  or  upward.  He 
shook  hands  with  Miss  Jessie  ;  but  he  could 
not  see  her  eyes,  she  kept  them  so  fixed  on  the 
ground.  Miss  Jenkyns  asked  me  if  I  would 
come  and  help  her  to  tie  up  the  preserves  in 
the  store-room;  and  though  Miss  Jessie  plucked 
at  my  gown,  and  even  looked  up  at  me  with 
begging  eye,  I  durst  not  refuse  to  go  where 
Miss  Jenkyns  asked.  Instead  of  tying  up  pre- 
serves in  the  store-room,  however,  we  went  to 
talk  in  tjie  dining-room  ;  and  there  Miss  Jen- 


42 


CrantorD. 


kyns  told  me  what  Major  Gordon  had  told  her; 
how  he  had  ser\'ed  in  the  same  regiment  with 
Captain  Brown,  and  had  become  acquainted 
with  Miss  Jessie,  then  a  sweet-looking,  bloom- 
ing girl  of  eighteen  ;  how  the  acquaintance  had 
grown  into  love  on  his  part,  though  it  had 
been  some  \-ears  before  he  had  spoken  ;  how, 
on  becoming  possessed,  through  the  will  of  an 
uncle,  of  a  good  estate  in  Scotland,  he  had  of- 
fered, and  been  refused,  though  with  so  much 
agitation  and  evident  distress,  that  he  was 
sure  she  was  not  indifferent  to  him  ;  and  how 
he  had  discovered  that  the  obstacle  was  the  fell 
disease  which  was,  even  then,  too  surely  threat- 
ening her  sister.  She  had  mentioned  that  the 
surgeons  foretold  intense  suffering  ;  a '.id  there 
was  no  one  but  herself  to  nurse  her  poor  Mary, 
to  cheer  and  comfort  her  father  during  the 
time  of  illness.  They  had  had  long  discus- 
sions ;  and  on  her  refusal  tf^  pledge  herself  to 
him  as  his  wife,  when  all  should  be  over,  he 
had  grown  angr)^  and  jrokeu  oiF  entirely,  and 
gone  abroad,  belie'^'ing  that  she  was  a  cold- 
hearted  person,  whom  he  would  do  well  to  for- 
get. He  had  been  travelling  in  the  East,  and 
was  on  his  return  home  when,  at  Rome,  he 
saw  the  account  of  Captain  Brown's  death  in 
Galigiianj . 

Just  then  Miss  Matty,  who  had  been  out  all 
the  mo''ning  and  had  only  lately  returned  to 
the  house,  burst  in  with  a  face  of  dismay  and 
outraged  propriety 


^be  Captain.  43 


"  Oh,  goodness  me!"  she  said.  "  Deborah, 
there's  a  gentleman  sitting  in  the  drawing- 
room,  with  his  arm  round  Miss  Jessie's 
waist!"  Miss  Matty's  eyes  looked  large  with 
terror. 

Miss  Jenkyns  snubbed  her  down  in  an  in- 
stant : 

"  The  most  proper  place  in  the  world  for  his 
arm  to  be  in.  Go  awa5^  Matilda,  and  mind 
youi  own  business."  This  from  her  sister, 
who  had  hitherto  been  a  model  of  feminine 
decorum,  was  a  blow  for  poor  Miss  Matty,  and 
with  a  double  shock  she  left  the  room. 

The  last  time  I  ever  saw  poor  Miss  Jenkyns 
was  many  years  after  this.  Mrs.  Gordon  had 
kept  up  a  warm  and  affectionate  intercourse 
with  all  at  Cranford.  Miss  Jenkyns,  Miss 
MsLtXy,  and  Miss  Pole  had  all  been  to  visit  her, 
and  returned  with  wonderful  accounts  of  her 
house,  her  husband,  her  dress  and  her  looks. 
For,  with  happiness,  something  of  her  early 
bloom  returned  ;  she  had  been  a  year  or  two 
younger  than  we  had  taken  her  for.  Her  eyes 
were  always  lovely,  and,  as  Mrs.  Gordon,  her 
dimples  were  not  out  of  place.  At  the  time  to 
which  I  have  referred,  when  I  last  saw  Miss 
Jenkyns,  that  lady  was  old  and  feeble  and  had 
lost  .something  of  her  strong  mind.  Little 
Flora  Gordon  was  staying  with  the  Misses 
Jenkyns,  and  when  I  came  in  she  was  reading 
aloud  to  Miss  Jenkyns,  who  lay  feeble  and 
changed  on  the  sofa.  Flora  put  down  the 
Ranibler  when  I  came  in. 


44 


CranforS. 


"Ah!"  said  Miss  Jenkyns,  "you  find  me 
changed,  my  dear.  I  can't  see  as  I  used  to  do. 
If  Flora  were  not  here  to  read  to  me,  I  hardly 
know  how  I  should  get  through  the  day.  Did 
you  ever  read  the  Rambler?  It's  a  wonderful 
book — wonderful!  and  the  most  improving 
reading  for  Flora" — (w^hich  I  dare  say  it  would 
have  been,  if  she  could  have  read  half  the 
words  without  spelling,  and  could  have  under- 
stood the  meaning  of  a  third) — "better  than 
that  strange  old  book,  with  the  queer  name, 
poor  Captain  Brown  was  killed  for  reading — 
that  book  by  Mr.  Boz,  you  know — Old  Poz; 
when  I  was  a  girl,  but  that's  a  long  time  ago 
— I  acted  'Lucy'  in  Old  Poz'' — she  babbled  on 
long  enough  for  Flora  to  get  a  good  long  spell 
at  the  Christmas  Carols  which  Miss  Matty  had 
left  on  the  table. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A   LOVE   AFFAIR   OF  LONG   AGO. 

I  THOUGHT  that  probably  my  connection 
with  Crauford  would  cease  after  Miss  Jeu- 
kyns'  death;  at  least,  that  it  would  have  to  be 
kept  up  by  correspondence,  which  bears  much 
the  same  relation  to  personal  intercourse  that 
the  books  of  dried  plants  I  sometimes  see  {Hor- 
tus  Steals,  I  think  they  call  the  thing)  do  to  the 
living  and  fresh  flowers  in  the  lanes  and  mead- 
ows. I  w^as  pleasantly  surprised,  therefore,  by 
receiving  a  letter  from  Miss  Pole  (who  had  al- 
ways come  in  for  a  supplementary  week  after 
my  annual  visit  to  Miss  Jenkyns),  proposing 
that  I  should  go  and  stay  with  her;  and  then, 
in  a  couple  of  days  after  my  acceptance,  came  a 
note  from  Miss  Matty,  in  which,  in  a  rather  cir- 
cuitous and  very  humble  manner,  she  told  me 
how  much  pleasure  I  should  confer  if  I  could 
spend  a  week  or  two  with  her,  either  before  or 
after  I  had  been  at  Miss  Pole's;  "for,"  she 
said,  "  since  my  dear  sister's  death  I  am  well 
aware  I  have  no  attractions  to  oflfer  ;  it  is  only 
to  the  kindness  of  my  friends  that  I  can  owe 
their  company." 

Of  course,  I  promised  to  come  to  dear  Miss 
Matty,  as  soon  as  I  had  ended  my  visit  to  Miss 
Pole ;  and  the  day  after  my  arrival  at  Cranford, 
(45) 


46  GranforO. 

I  went  to  see  her,  much  wondering  what  the 
house  would  be  like  without  Miss  Jenkyns,  and 
rather  dreading  the  changed  aspect  of  things. 
Miss  Matty  began  to  cry  as  soon  as  she  saw 
me.  She  was  evidently  nervous  from  having 
anticipated  my  call.  I  comforted  her  as  well 
as  I  could  ;  and  I  found  the  best  consolation  I 
could  give  was  the  honest  j^raise  that  came 
from  my  heart  as  I  spoke  of  the  deceased. 
Miss  Matt3'  slowly  shook  her  head  over  each 
virtue  as  it  was  named  and  attributed  to  her 
sister  ;  at  last  she  could  not  restrain  the  tears 
which  had  long  been  silently  flowing,  but  hid 
her  face  behind  her  handkerchief,  and  sobbed 
aloud. 

"  Dear  Miss  Matty  !"  said  I,  taking  her  hand; 
for  indeed  I  did  not  know  in  what  way  to  tell 
her  how  sorry  I  was  for  her,  left  deserted  in  the 
world.  She  put  down  her  handkerchief,  and 
said: 

"My  dear,  I'd  rather  you  did  not  call  me 
Matty.  She  did  not  like  it ;  but  I  did  many  a 
thing  she  did  not  like,  I'm  afraid — and  now 
she's  gone  !  If  you  please,  my  love,  will  you 
call  me  Matilda?" 

I  promised  faithfully,  and  began  to  practise 
the  new  name  with  Miss  Pole  that  very  day  ; 
and,  by  degrees,  Miss  Matilda's  feeling  on  the 
subject  was  known  through  Cranford,  and  we 
all  tried  to  drop  the  more  familiar  name,  but 
with  so  little  success  that  by  and  by  we  gave 
up  the  attempt. 

My  visit  to  Miss  Pole  was  very  quiet.     Miss 


a  Xove  affair  ot  %onQ  Sqo.  47 

Jenkj'iis  had  so  long  taken  the  lead  in  Cranford 
that,  now  she  was  gone,  they  hardly  knew  how 
to  give  a  party.  The  Honorable  Mrs,  Jamie- 
son,  to  whom  Miss  Jenkyns  herself  had  alwaj'S 
yielded  the  post  of  honor,  w'as  fat  and  inert, 
and  very  much  at  the  mercy  of  her  old 
servants.  If  they  chose  that  she  should  give 
a  part}^  the\'  reminded  her  of  the  necessity 
for  so  doing  ;  if  not,  she  let  it  alone.  There 
was  all  the  more  time  for  me  to  hear  old- 
world  stories  from  Miss  Pole,  while  she  sat 
knitting,  and  I  making  my  father's  shirts. 
I  always  took  a  quantity  of  plain  sewing 
to  Cranford  ;  for,  as  we  did  not  read  much, 
or  walk  much,  I  found  it  a  capital  time  to 
get  through  my  work.  One  of  Miss  Pole's 
stories  related  to  a  shadow  of  a  love  affair 
that  was  dimly  perceived  or  suspected  long 
years  before. 

Presently  the  time  arrived  when  I  was  to 
remove  to  Miss  Matilda's  house.  I  found  her 
timid  and  anxious  about  the  arrangements  for 
my  comfort.  Many  a  time,  while  I  was  un- 
packing, did  .she  come  backward  and  forward 
to  stir  the  fire,  which  burned  all  the  worse  for 
being  so  frequently  poked. 

"Have  you  drawers  enough,  dear?"  asked 
she.  "I  don't  know  exactly  how  my  sister 
used  to  arrange  them.  She  had  capital 
methods.  I  am  sure  she  would  have  trained  a 
serv-aut  in  a  week  to  make  a  better  fire  than 
this,  and  -Fanny  has  been  with  me  fouT 
months." 


48  CranforD. 

This  subject  of  servants  was  a  standing  griev 
ance,  and  I  could  not  wonder  much  at  it;  foi 
if  gentlemen  were  scarce,  and  almost  unheard 
of  in  the  "genteel  society"  of  Cranford.  they 
or  their  counterparts — handsome  young  men- 
abounded  in  the  lower  classes.  The  pretty  neat 
servant-maids  had  their  choice  of  desirable 
"  followers;"  and  their  mistresses,  without  hav 
ing  the  sort  of  mysterious  dread  of  men  and 
matrimony  that  Miss  Matilda  had,  might  well 
feel  a  little  anxious,  lest  the  heads  of  their 
comel)^  maids  should  be  turned  by  the  joiner 
or  the  butcher,  or  the  gardener,  who  were 
obliged,  by  their  callings,  to  come  to  the  house 
and  who,  as  ill  luck  would  have  it,  were  gener 
ally  handsome  and  unmarried.  Fannj-'s  lovers, 
if  she  had  any — and  Miss  Matilda  suspected  hei 
of  so  many  flirtations  that,  if  she  had  not  been 
ver}'^  pretty,  I  should  have  doubted  her  having 
one — were  a  constant  anxiety  to  her  mistress. 
She  was  forbidden,  by  the  articles  of  her  en- 
gagement, to  have  "followers;"  and  though 
she  had  answered  innocently  enough,  doubling 
up  the  hem  of  her  apron  as  she  spoke,  "Please, 
ma'am,  I  never  had  more  than  one  at  a  time," 
Miss  Matty  prohibited  that  one.  But  a  vision 
of  a  man  seemed  to  haunt  the  kitchen.  Fanny 
assured  me  that  it  was  all  fancy;  or  else  I 
should  have  said  myself  that  I  had  seen  a 
man's  coat-tails  whisk  into  the  scullery  once, 
when  I  went  on  an  errand  into  the  store-room 
at    night;,  and    another  evening,    when,    our 


B  %ox>c  affair  of  Xong  Bqo.  49 

watches  having  stopped,  I  went  to  look  at  the 
clock,  there  was  a  very  odd  appearance,  singu- 
larly like  a  young  man  squeezed  up  between 
the  clock  and  the  back  of  the  open  kitchen - 
door;  and  I  thought  Fanny  snatched  up  the 
candle  very  hastily,  so  as  to  throw  the  shadow 
on  the  clock-face,  while  she  very  positively 
told  me  the  time  half  an  hour  too  early,  as  we 
found  out  afterward  by  the  church  clock.  But 
I  did  not  add  to  Miss  Matty's  anxieties  by 
naming  my  suspicions,  especially  as  Fanny 
said  to  me,  the  next  day,  that  it  was  such  a 
queer  kitchen  for  having  odd  shadows  about 
it,  she  really  was  almost  afraid  to  stay;  "for 
you  know,  miss,"  she  added,  "  I  don't  see  a 
creature  from  six-o'clock  tea  till  missus  rings 
the  bell  for  prayers  at  ten." 

However,  it  so  fell  out  that  Fanny  had  to 
leave;  and  Miss  Matilda  begged  me  to  stay 
and  ' '  settle  her ' '  with  the  new  maid;  to  which 
I  consented,  after  I  had  heard  from  my  father 
that  he  did  not  want  me  at  home.  The  new 
servant  was  a  rough,  honest-looking  country- 
girl,  who  had  only  lived  in  a  farm  place  before; 
but  I  liked  her  looks  when  she  came  to  be 
hired;  and  I  promised  Miss  Matilda  to  put  her 
in  the  ways  of  the  house.  The  said  ways  were 
religiously  such  as  Miss  Matilda  thought  her 
sister  would  approve.  Many  a  domestic  rule 
and  regulation  had  been  a  subject  of  plaintive 
whispered  murmur  to  me,  during  Miss  Jenkyns' 
life;  but  now  that  she  was  gone,  I  do  not 
4. 


50  Crantoro. 

think  that  even  I,  who  was  a  favorite,  durst 
have  suggested  an  alteration.  To  give  an  in- 
stance: we  constantly  adhered  to  the  forms 
which  were  observed,  at  meal  times,  in  "  my 
father,  the  rector's  house."  Accordingly,  we 
had  always  wine  and  dessert;  but  the  decanters 
were  only  filled  when  there  was  a  party  ;  and 
what  remained  was  seldom  touched,  though 
we  had  two  wine-glasses  apiece  every  day  after 
dinner,  until  the  next  festive  occasion  arrived, 
when  the  state  of  the  remainder  wine  was  ex- 
amined into,  in  a  family  council.  The  dregs 
were  often  given  to  the  poor;  but  occasionally, 
when  a  good  deal  had  been  left  at  the  last 
party  (five  months  ago,  it  might  be),  it  was 
added  to  some  of  a  fresh  bottle,  brought  up 
from  the  cellar.  I  fancy  poor  Captain  Brown 
did  not  much  like  wine ;  for  I  noticed  he 
never  finished  his  first  glass,  and  most  military 
men  take  several.  Then,  as  to  our  dessert, 
Miss  Jenkyns  used  to  gather  currants  and 
gooseberries  for  it  herself,  which  I  sometimes 
thought  would  have  tasted  better  fresh  from 
the  trees;  but  then,  as  Miss  Jenkyns  observed, 
there  would  have  been  nothing  for  dessert  in 
summer-time.  As  it  was,  we  felt  very  genteel 
with  our  two  glasses  apiece,  and  a  dish  of 
gooseberries  at  the  top,  of  currants  and  bis- 
cuits at  the  sides,  and  two  decanters  at  the 
bottom.  When  oranges  came  in,  a  curious 
proceeding  was  gone  through.  Miss  Jenkyns 
did  not  like  to  cut  the  fruit ;  for,  as  she  ob- 


B  Xovc  Httalr  of  Xonfl  Boo.  51 

served,  the  juice  all  ran  out  nobody  knew 
where  ;  sucking  (only  I  think  she  used  some 
more  recondite  word)  was,  in  fact,  the  only 
way  of  enjoying  oranges;  but  then  there  was 
the  unpleasant  association  with  a  ceremony 
frequently  gone  through  by  little  babies;  and 
so,  after  dessert,  in  orange  season.  Miss 
Jenkjais  and  Miss  Matty  used  to  rise  up,  pos- 
sess themselves  each  of  an  orange  in  silence, 
and  withdraw  to  the  privacy  of  their  own 
rooms,  to  indulge  in  sucking  oranges. 

I  had  once  or  twice  tried,  on  such  occasions, 
to  prevail  on  Miss  Matty  to  staj^ ;  and  had 
succeeded  in  her  sister's  lifetime.  I  held  up  a 
screen,  and  did  not  look,  and,  as  she  said,  she 
tried  not  to  make  the  noise  very  offensive  ; 
but  now  that  she  was  left  alone,  she  seemed 
quite  horrified  when  I  begge,d  her  to  remain 
with  me  in  the  warm  dining-parlor,  and  enjoy 
her  orange  as  she  liked  best.  And  so  it  was  in 
everything.  Miss  Jenkyns'  rules  were  made 
more  stringent  than  ever,  because  the  framei 
of  them  was  gone  where  there  could  be  no 
appeal.  In  all  things  else  Miss  Matilda  was 
meek  and  undecided  to  a  fault.  I  have  heard 
Fanny  turn  her  round  twenty  times  in  a  morn- 
ing about  dinner,  just  as  the  little  hussy  chose ; 
and  I  sometimes  fancied  she  worked  on  Miss 
Matilda's  weakness  in  order  to  bewilder  her, 
and  to  make  her  feel  more  in  the  power  of  hei 
clever  servant.  I  determined  that  I  would  not 
leave  her  till  I  had  seen  what  sort  of  a  person 


52 


GranforO. 


Martha  was  ;  and,  if  I  found  her  trustworthy, 
I  would  tell  her  not  to  trouble  her  mistress 
with  every  little  decision. 

Martha  was  blunt  and  plain-spoken  to  a 
fault ;  otherwise  she  was  a  brisk,  well-mean- 
ing, but  very  ignorant  girl.  She  had  not  been 
with  as  a  week  before  Miss  Matilda  and  I  were 
astounded  one  morning  by  the  receipt  of  a  let- 
ter from  a  cousin  of  hers,  who  had  been  twenty 
or  thirty  years  in  India,  and  who  had  lately, 
as  we  had  seen  by  the  Aftny  List,  returned  to 
England,  bringing  with  him  an  invalid  wife, 
who  had  never  been  introduced  to  her  English 
relations.  Major  Jenkyns  wrote  to  propose 
that  he  and  his  wife  should  spend  a  night  at 
Cranford,  on  his  way  to  Scotland — at  the  inn, 
if  it  did  not  suit  Miss  Matilda  to  receive  them 
into  her  house.;  in  which  case  they  should 
hope  to  be  with  her  as  much  as  possible  during 
the  day.  Of  course  it  7niist  suit  her,  as  she 
said ;  for  all  Cranford  knew  that  she  had  her 
sister's  bedroom  at  liberty  ;  but  I  am  sure  she 
wished  the  Major  had  stopped  in  India  and  for- 
gotten his  cousins  out  and  out. 

"Oh!  how  must  I  manage?"  asked  she 
helplessly.  "If  Deborah  had  been  alive,  she 
would  have  known  what  to  do  with  a  gentle- 
man-visitor. Must  I  put  razors  in  his  dress- 
ing-room ?  Dear !  dear !  and  I've  got  none. 
Deborah  would  have  had  them.  And  slippers, 
and  coat-brushes?"  I  suggested  that  probably 
he  would   bring  all   these  things  with   him. 


a  Xove  Btfatc  ot  Xono  Boo.  53 

' '  And  after  dinner,  how  am  I  to  know  when  to 
get  up,  and  leave  him  to  his  wine  ?  Deborah 
would  have  done  it  so  well  ;  she  would  have 
been  quite  in  her  element.  Will  he  wantcofifee, 
do  you  think?"  I  understood  the  manage- 
ment of  the  coffee,  and  told  her  I  would  in- 
struct Martha  in  the  art  of  waiting,  in  which  it 
must  be  owned  she  was  terribly  deficient ;  and 
that  I  had  no  doubt  Major  and  Mrs.  Jenkyns 
would  understand  the  quiet  mode  in  which  a 
lady  lived  by  herself  in  a  country  town.  But 
she  was  sadly  fluttered.  I  made  her  empty 
her  decanters,  and  bring  up  two  fresh  bottles 
of  wine.  I  wished  I  could  have  prevented  her 
from  being  present  at  my  instructions  to  Mar- 
tha ;  for  she  frequently  cut  in  with  some  fresh 
direction,  muddling  the  poor  girl's  mind,  as 
she  stood  open-mouthed,  listening  to  us  both. 

"  Hand  the  vegetables  round,"  said  I  (fool- 
ishly, I  see  now ;  for  it  was  aiming  at  more 
than  we  could  accomplish  with  quietness  and 
simplicity)  ;  and  then,  seeing  her  look  bewil- 
dered, I  added,  "Take  the  vegetables  round  to 
people,  and  let  them  help  themselves." 

"And  mind  you  go  first  to  the  ladies,"  put 
in  Miss  Matilda.  "Always  go  to  the  ladies 
before  gentlemen,  when  you  are  waiting." 

"I'll  do  it  as  you  tell  me,  ma'am,"  said 
Martha  ;  "  but  I  like  lads  best." 

We  felt  very  uncomfortable  and  shocked  at 
this  speech  of  Martha's ;  yet  I  don't  think  .she 
meant  any  harm ;  and,  on  the  v;hole,  she  at 


54  CranforO. 

fended  very  well  to  our  directions,  except  that 
she  "  nudged  "  the  Major  when  he  did  not  help 
himself  as  soon  as  she  expected  to  the  potatoes, 
while  she  was  handing  them  around. 

The  Major  and  his  wife  were  quiet,  unpre- 
tending people  enough  when  they  did  come  ; 
languid,  as  all  East  Indians  are,  I  suppose. 
We  were  rather  dismayed  at  their  bringing  two 
servants  with  them,  a  Hindoo  body-servant  for 
the  Major,  and  a  steady  elderly  maid  for  his 
>wife  ;  but  they  slept  at  the  inn,  and  took  off  a 
good  deal  of  the  responsibility  by  attending 
carefully  to  their  master's  and  mistress'  com- 
fort. Martha,  to  be  sure,  had  never  ended  her 
staring  at  the  East  Indian's  white  turban  and 
brown  complexion,  and  I  saw  that  Miss  Ma- 
tilda shrunk  away  from  him  a  little  as  he  waited 
at  dinner.  Indeed,  she  asked  me,  when  they 
were  gone,  if  he  did  not  remind  me  of  Blue 
Beard  ?  On  the  whole,  the  visit  was  most  sat- 
isfactor}',  and  is  a  subject  of  conversation  even 
now  with  Miss  Matilda ;  at  the  time,  it  greatly 
excited  Cranford,  and  even  stirred  up  the  apa- 
thetic and  Honorable  Mrs.  Jamiesou  to  some 
expression  of  interest,  when  I  went  to  call  and 
thank  her  for  the  kind  answers  she  had  vouch- 
safed to  Miss  Matilda's  inquiries  as  to  the  ar- 
rangement of  a  gentleman's  dressing-room — 
answers  which  I  must  confess  she  had  given 
in  the  wearied  manner  of  the  Scandinavian 
prophetess — 

"  Leave  me,  leave  me  to  repose." 


a  Xorc  StEafr  ot  Xong  Bgo.  55 

And  7/£»z«/  I  come  to  the  love  afifair. 

It  seems  that  Miss  Pole  had  a  cousin,  once 
or  twice  removed,  who  had  offered  to  Miss 
Matty  long  ago.  Now,  this  cousin  lived  four 
or  five  miles  from  Cranford  on  his  own  estate, 
but  his  property  was  not  large  enough  to  en- 
title him  to  rank  higher  than  a  j^eoman:  or 
rather,  with  something  of  the  "pride  which 
apes  humility,"  he  had  refused  to  push  himself 
on,  as  so  many  of  his  class  had  done,  into  the 
ranks  of  the  squires.  He  would  not  allow  him- 
self to  be  called  Thomas  Holbrook,  Esq.;  he 
even  sent  back  letters  with  this  address,  telling 
the  postmistress  at  Cranford  that  his  name  was 
Mr.  Thomas  Holbrook,  j'eoman.  He  rejected 
all  domestic  innovations;  he  would  have  the 
house  door  stand  open  in  summer,  and  shut  in 
winter,  without  knocker  or  bell  to  summon  a 
servant.  The  closed  fist  or  the  knob  of  the 
stick  did  this  office  for  him,  if  he  found  the 
door  locked.  He  despised  every  refinement 
which  had  not  its  root  deep  down  in  humanity. 
If  people  were  not  ill,  he  .saw  no  necessity  for 
moderating  his  voice.  He  spoke  the  dialect  of 
the  country  in  perfection,  and  constantly  used 
it  in  conversation;  although  Miss  Pole  (who 
gave  me  these  particular.s)  added,  that  he  read 
aloud  more  beautifully  and  with  more  feeling 
than  any  one  she  had  ever  heard,  except  the 
late  rector. 

"And  how  came  Miss  Matilda  not  to  marry 
him?"  asked  I. 


56  Crantorc*. 

'  'Oh,  I  don' t  know.  She  was  willing  enough, 
I  think;  but  you  know  Cousin  Thomas  would 
not  have  been  enough  of  a  gentleman  for  the 
rector  and  Miss  Jenkj'us." 

"Well!  but  they  were  not  to  marry  him," 
said  I,  impatiently. 

"No;  but  they  did  not  like  Miss  Matt>'  to 
marry  bfclow  her  rank.  You  know  she  was  the 
rector's  daughter,  and  somehow  they  are  re- 
lated to  Sir  Peter  Arley:  Miss  Jenkyus  thought 
a  deal  of  that," 

"  Poor  Miss  Matty! "  said  I. 

"Nay,  now,  I  don't  know  anything  more 
than  that  he  offered  and  was  refused.  Miss 
Matty  might  not  like  him — and  Miss  Jenkyns 
might  never  have  said  a  word — it  is  only  a 
guess  of  mine." 

' '  Has  sne  never  seen  him  since  ? "  I  in- 
quired. 

"No,  I  think  not.  You  see,  Woodley,  Cousin 
Thomas'  house,  lies  half-way  between  Cranford 
and  Misselton;  and  I  know  he  made  Mis- 
selton  his  market-town  ver^"-  soon  after  he  had 
offered  to  Miss  Matty;  and  I  don't  think  he 
has  been  mto  Cranfora  above  once  or  twice 
since — once,  when  I  was  walking  with  Miss 
Matty,  in  High  Street  ;  and  suddenly  she 
darted  from  me,  and  went  up  Shire  Lane.  A 
few  minutes  after,  I  was  startled  by  meeting 
Cousin  Thomas." 

"  How  old  is  he  ?"  I  asked,  afler  a  pause  of 
castle-building. 


H  Xovc  affair  of  Xong  Bgo.  57 


"He  must  be  about  seventy,  I  think,  my 
dear."  said  Miss  Pole,  blowing  up  my  castle, 
as  if  by  gunpowder,  into  small  fragments. 

Very  soon  after — at  least  during  my  long 
visit  to  Mias  Matilda — I  had  the  opportunity 
of  seeing  Mr.  Holbrook;  seeing,  too,  his  first 
encounter  with  his  former  love,  after  thirty  or 
forty  years'  separation.  I  was  helping  to 
decide  whether  any  of  the  new  assortment  of 
colored  silks  which  they  had  just  received  at 
the  shop  would  do  to  match  a  gray  and  black 
mousseline  de  laine  that  wanted  a  new  breadth, 
when  a  tall,  thin,  Don  Quixote-looking  old 
man  came  into  the  shop  for  some  woollen 
gloves.  I  had  never  seen  the  person  (who 
was  rather  striking)  before,  and  I  watched 
him  rather  attentively,  while  Miss  Matty  lis- 
tened to  the  shopman.  The  stranger  wore  a 
blue  coat  with  brass  buttons,  drab  breeches, 
and  gaiters,  and  drummed  with  his  fingers  on 
the  counter  until  he  was  attended  to.  When  he 
answered  the  .shop-boy's  question,  "  What  can 
I  have  the  pleasure  of  showing  you  to-day, 
.sir?"  I  saw  Miss  Matilda  start,  and  then  sud- 
denly sit  down;  and  instantly  I  guessed  who 
it  was.  She  had  made  some  inquiry  which 
had  to  be  carried  round  to  the  other  shopman. 

"Miss  Jenk^'ns  wants  the  black  .sarcenet 
two  and  twopence  the  yard;"  and  Mr.  Hol- 
brook had  caught  the  name,  and  was  across 
the  shop  in  two  strides. 

"Matty — Miss      Matilda — Miss     Jenkyns  ! 


58  CranforD. 

God  bless  my  soul !  I  should  not  have  known 
you.  How  are  you?  how  are  you?"  He 
kept  shaking  her  hand  in  a  way  which  proved 
the  warmth  of  his  friendship;  but  he  repeated 
so  often,  as  if  to  himself,  "  I  should  not  have 
known  you!"  that  any  sentimental  romance 
which  I  might  be  inclined  to  build  was  quite 
done  away  with  by  his  manner. 

However,  he  kept  talking  to  us  all  the  time 
we  were  in  the  shop;  and  then  waving  the 
shopman  with  the  unpurchased  gloves  on  one 
side,  with,  "  Another  time,  sirJ  another  time!" 
he  walked  home  with  us.  I  am  happy  to  say 
my  client.  Miss  Matilda,  also  left  the  shop  in 
an  equally  bewildered  state,  not  have  pur- 
chased either  green  or  red  silk.  Mr.  Holbrook 
was  evidently  full  with  honest,  loud-spoken  joy 
at  meeting  his  old  love  again ;  he  touched  on 
the  changes  that  had  taken  place ;  he  even 
spoke  of  Miss  Jenkyns  as  "Your  poor  sister  ! 
Well,  well !  we  have  all  our  faults ;"  and  bade 
us  good-by  with  many  a  hope  that  he  should 
soon  see  Matty  again.  She  went  straight  to- 
her  room,  and  never  came  back  till  our  early 
tea-time,  when  I  thought  she  looked  as  if  she 
had  been  crying. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  VISIT  TO  AN  OLD  BACHELOR. 

A  FEW  days  after,  a  note  came  froin  Mr. 
Holbrook,  asking  us — impartially  asking 
both  of  us — in  a  formal,  old-fashioned  style — to 
spend  a  day  at  his  house — a  long  June  day — 
for  it  was  June  now.  He  named  that  he  had 
also  invited  his  cousin,  Miss  Pole  ;  so  that  we 
might  join  in  a  fly,  which  could  be  put  up  at 
his  house. 

I  expected  Miss  Matty  to  jump  at  this  invi- 
tation ;  but,  no  !  Miss  Pole  and  I  had  the 
greatest  difficulty  in  persuading  her  to  go. 
She  thought  it  was  improper ;  and  was  even 
half  annoyed  when  we  utterly  ignored  the  idea 
of  any  impropriety  in  her  going  with  two  other 
ladies  to  see  her  old  lover.  Then  came  a  more 
serious  difficulty.  She  did  not  think  Deborah 
would  have  liked  her  to  go.  This  took  us  half 
a  day's  good  hard  talking  to  get  over  ;  but,  at 
the  first  sentence  of  relenting,  I  seized  the  op- 
portunity, and  wrote  and  despatched  an  accept- 
ance in  her  name — fixing  day  and  hour,  that 
all  might  be  decided  and  done  with. 

The  next  morning  she  asked  me  if  I  would 
go  down  to  the  shop  with  her;  and  there,  after 
much  hesitation,  we  chose  out  three  caps  to  be 
(59) 


6o  CranforJ). 

sent  home  and  tried  on,  that  the  most  becom- 
ing might  be  selected  to  take  with  us  on 
Thursday. 

She  was  in  a  state  of  silent  agitation  all  the 
way  to  Woodley.  She  had  evidently  never 
been  there  before;  and,  although  she  little 
dreamed  I  knew  anything  of  her  early  story,  I 
could  perceive  she  was  in  a  tremor  at  the 
thought  of  seeing  the  place  which  might  have 
been  her  home,  and  round  which  it  is  probable 
that  many  of  her  innocent  girlish  imaginations 
had  clustered.  It  was  a  long  drive  there, 
through  paved  jolting  lanes.  Miss  Matilda  sat 
bolt  upright,  and  looked  wistfully  out  of  the 
windows,  as  we  drew  near  the  end  of  our  jour- 
ney. The  aspect  of  the  country  was  quiet  and 
pastoral.  Woodley  stood  among  fields;  and 
there  was  an  old-fashioned  garden,  where  roses 
and  currant-bushes  touched  each  other,  and 
where  the  feathery  asparagus  formed  a  pretty 
background  to  the  pinks  and  gilly-flowers. 
There  was  no  drive  up  to  the  door:  we  got  out 
at  a  little  gate,  and  walked  up  a  straight  box- 
edged  path. 

"  My  cousin  might  make  a  drive,  I  think," 
said  Miss  Pole,  who  was  afraid  of  earache,  and 
had  only  her  cap  on. 

"  I  think  it  is  very  pretty,"  said  Miss  Matty, 
with  a  soft  plaintiveness  in  her  voice,  and 
almost  in  a. whisper;  for  just  then  Mr.  Hol- 
brook  appeared  at  the  door,  rubbing  his  hands 
in  very  effervescence  of  hospitality.     He  looked 


H  Wisit  to  an  ©ID  JSacbclor.  6i 

more  like  my  idea  of  Don  Quixote  than  ever, 
and  yet  the  likeness  was  only  external.  His 
respectable  housekeeper  stood  modestly  at  the 
door  to  bid  us  welcome ;  and,  while  she  led  the 
elder  ladies  up-stairs  to  a  bedroom,  I  begged  to 
look  about  the  garden.  My  request  evidently 
pleased  the  old  gentleman,  who  took  me  all 
round  the  place,  and  showed  me  his  six-and- 
twenty  cows,  named  after  the  different  letters 
of  the  alphabet.  As  we  went  along,  he  sur- 
prised me  occasionally  by  repeating  apt  and 
beautiful  quotations  from  the  poets,  ranging 
easily  from  Shakespeare  and  George  Herbert  to 
those  of  our  own  day.  He  did  this  as  naturally 
as  if  he  were  thinking  aloud,  and  their  true 
and  beautiful  words  were  the  best  expression 
he  could  find  for  what  he  was  thinking  or  feel- 
ing. To  be  sure,  he  called  Byron  "my  Lord 
Byrron,"  and  pronounced  the  name  of  Goethe 
strictly  in  accordance  with  the  English  sound 
of  the  letters — "As  Goethe  says,  '  Ye  ever- ver- 
dant palaces,'  "  etc.  Altogether,  I  never  met 
with  a  man,  before  or  since,  who  had  spent 
so  long  a  life  in  a  secluded  and  not  impressive 
country,  with  ever-increasing  delight  in  the 
daily  and  yearly  change  of  season  and  beauty. 
When  he  and  I  went  in,  we  found  that  din- 
ner was  nearly  ready  in  the  kitchen — for  so  I 
suppose  the  room  ought  to  be  called,  as  there 
were  oak  dressers  and  cupboards  all  round,  all 
over  by  the  side  of  the  fireplace,  and  only  a 
small  Turkey  carpet  in  the  middle  of  the  flag- 


62  CranforO. 

floor.  The  room  might  have  been  easily  made 
into  a  handsome  dark-oak  diuing-parlor,  by- 
removing  the  oven,  and  a  few  other  appurte- 
nances of  a  kitchen,  which  were  evidently 
never  used ;  the  real  cooking  place  being  at 
some  distance.  The  room  in  which  we  were 
expected  to  sit  was  a  stiffly  furnished,  ugly 
apartment ;  but  that  in  which  we  did  sit  was 
what  Mr.  Holbrook  called  the  counting-house, 
when  he  paid  his  laborers  their  weekly  wages, 
at  a  great  desk  near  the  door.  The  rest  of  the 
pretty  sitting-room — looking  into  the  orchard, 
and  all  covered  over  with  dancing  tree-shadows 
— was  filled  with  books.  They  lay  on  the 
ground,  they  covered  the  walls,  the}^  strewed 
the  table.  He  was  evidently  half  ashamed  and 
half  proud  of  his  extravagance  in  this  respect. 
The}'  were  of  all  kinds — poetry  and  wild  weird 
tales  prevailing.  He  evidently  chose  his 
books  in  accordance  with  his  own  tastes,  not 
because  such  and  such  were  classical  and  es- 
tablished favorites. 

"Ah!"  he  said,  "we  farmers  ought  not  to 
have  much  time  for  reading ;  yet  somehow  one 
can't  help  it." 

"What  a  pretty  room!"  said  Miss  Matty, 
sotto  voce. 

"What  a  pleasant  place!"  said  I  aloud,  al- 
most simultaneously. 

' '  Nay  !  if  you  like  it, "  replied  he ;  "  but  can 
you  sit  on  these  great  black  leather  three-cor- 
nered chairs?    I  like  it  better  than  the  best 


B  \D(6(t  to  an  ©10  SJacbclor.  63 

parlor ;  but  I  thought  ladies  would  take  that 
for  the  smarter  place." 

It  was  the  smarter  place;  but,  like  most  smart 
things,  not  at  all  pretty,  or  pleasant,  or  home- 
like ;  so,  while  we  w^ere  at  dinner,  the  servant- 
girl  dusted  and  scrubbed  the  counting-house 
chairs,  and  we  sat  there  all  the  rt=>t  of  the  day. 

We  had  pudding  before  meat ;  and  I  thought 
Mr.  Holbrook  was  going  to  make  some  apol- 
ogy for  his  old-fashioned  ways,  for  he  began : 

"I  don't  know  whether  you  like  new-fangled 
ways. ' ' 

"  Oh  !  not  at  all  !"  said  Miss  Matty. 

'.'No  more  do  I,"  said  he.  "My  house- 
keeper will  have  the.se  in  her  new  fashion  ;  or 
else  I  tell  her  that,  when  I  was  a  young  man, 
we  used  to  keep  strictly  to  my  father's  rule, 
'No  broth,  no  ball;  no  ball,  no  beef;'  and 
always  began  dinner  with  broth.  Then  we 
had  suet  puddings,  boiled  in  the  broth  with 
the  beef;  and  then  the  meat  itself  If  we  did 
not  sup  our  broth,  we  had  no  ball,  which  we 
liked  a  deal  better;  and  the  beef  came  last  of 
all,  and  only  those  had  it  who  had  done  justice 
to  the  broth  and  the  ball.  Now  folks  begin 
with  sweet  things,  and  turn  their  dinners 
topsy-turvy." 

When  the  ducks  and  green  peas  came  we 
looked  at  each  other  in  dismay  ;  we  had  only 
two-pronged,  black-handled  forks.  It  is  true, 
the  steel  was  as  bright  as  silver  ;  but  what 
were  we  to  do  ?     Miss  Matty  picked  up  her 


64  CrantotJ). 

peas,  one  by  one,  on  the  point  of  the  prongs, 
much  as  Amine  ate  her  grains  of  rice  after  her 
previous  feast  with  the  Ghoul.  Miss  Pole 
sighed  over  her  delicate  young  peas  as  she  left 
them  on  one  side  of  her  plate  untasted;  for 
they  wojild  drop  between  the  prongs.  I  looked 
at  my  host :  the  peas  were  going  wholesale 
into  his  capacious  mouth,  shovelled  up  by  his 
large  rounded  knift.  I  saw.  I  imitated,  I  sur 
vived  !  My  friends,  in  spite  of  my  precedent, 
could  not  muster  up  courage  enough  to  do  an 
ungenteel  thing;  and,  if  Mr.  Holbrook  had  not 
been  so  heartily  hungry,  he  would  probably 
have  seen  that  the  good  peas  went  away  al- 
most untouched. 

After  dinner,  a  clay  pipe  was  brought  in, 
and  a  spittoon ;  and,  asking  us  to  retire  to  an- 
other room,  where  he  would  soon  join  us  if  we 
disliked  tobacco  smoke,  he  presented  his  pipe 
to  Miss  Matty,  and  requested  her  to  fill  the 
bowl.  This  was  a  compliment  to  a  lad}-  in  his 
youth ;  but  it  was  rather  inappropriate  to  pro- 
pose it  as  an  honor  to  Miss  Matty,  who  had 
been  trained  by  her  sister  to  hold  smoking  of 
every  kind  in  utter  abhorrence.  But  if  it  was 
a  shock  to  her  refinement,  it  was  also  a  gratifi- 
cation to  her  feelings  to  be  thus  selected ;  sc 
she  daintily  stuffed  the  strong  tobacco  into  the 
■pipe;  and  then  we  withdrew. 

"  It  is  very  pleasant  dining  with  a  bachelor," 
said  Miss  Matt}',  softly,  as  we  settled  ourselves 
in  the  counting-house.  "I  only  hope  it  is  not 
improper;  so  mau}-  pleasant  things  are!" 


a  IDisit  to  an  ©10  JBacbelor.  65 

"What  a  number  of  books  he  has!"  said 
Miss  Pole,  looking  round  the  room.  "And 
how  dusty  they  are !  " 

"I  think  it  must  be  like  one  of  the  great  Dr. 
Johnson's  rooms,"  said  Miss  Matty.  "What 
a  superior  man  your  cousin  must  be  ! " 

"Yes!"  said  Miss  Pole;  "he's  a  great 
reader;  but  I  am  afraid  he  has  got  into  very 
uncouth  habits  with  living  alone." 

' '  Oh  !  uncouth  is  too  hard  a  word.  I  should 
call  him  eccentric ;  very  clever  people  always 
are  ! "  replied  Miss  Matty. 

When  Mr.  Holbook  returned,  he  proposed  a 
walk  in  the  fields ;  but  the  two  elder  ladies 
were  afraid  of  damp  and  dirt ;  and  had  only 
very  unbecoming  calashes  to  put  on  over  theii 
caps;  so  they  declined,  and  I  was  again  his 
companion  in  a  turn  which  he  said  he  was 
obliged  to  take,  to  see  after  his  men.  He 
strode  along,  either  wholly  forgetting  my  ex- 
istence, or  soothed  into  silence  by  his  pipe — 
and  yet  it  was  not  silence  exactly.  He  walked 
before  me,  with  a  stooping  gait,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  him ;  and,  as  some  tree  or  cloud, 
or  glimpse  of  distant  upland  pastures,  struck 
him,  he  quoted  poetr}'  to  himself ;  saying  it  out 
loud  in  a  grand  sonorous  voice,  with  just  the 
emphasis  that  true  feeling  and  appreciation 
give.  We  came  upon  an  old  cedar  tree,  which 
stood  at  one  end  of  the  house ; 

"The  cedar  spreads  his  dark-greeu  layers  of  shade." 

5 


66  CcantorO. 

"  Capital  term — '  layers. '  Wonderful  man  ! '' 
I  did  not  know  whether  he  was  speaking  to 
me  or  not;  but  I  put  in  an  assenting  "Won- 
derful," although  I  knew  nothing  about  it; 
just  because  I  was  tired  of  being  forgotten, 
and  of  being  consequently  silent. 

He  turned  sharp  around.  "Ay!  you  may 
say  'wonderful.'  Why,  when  I  saw  the  re- 
view of  his  poems  in  Blackwood,  I  set  off  within 
an  hour,  and  walked  seven  miles  to  Misselton 
(for  the  horses  were  not  in  the  way)  and  or- 
dered them.  Now,  what  color  are  ash-buds  in 
March?" 

Is  the  man  going  mad?  thought  I.  He  is 
very  like  Don  Quixote. 

"What  color  are  they,  I  say?"  repeated  he, 
vehemently. 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know,  sir,"  said  I,  with 
the  meekness  of  ignorance. 

"I  knew  3'ou  didn't.  No  more  did  I — an 
old  fool  that  I  am  ! — till  this  young  man  comes 
and  tells  me.  Black  as  ash-buds  in  March. 
And  I've  lived  all  my  life  in  the  country; 
more  shame  for  me  not  to  know.  Black — they 
are  jet-black,  madam."  And  he  went  off 
again,  swinging  along  to  the  music  of  some 
rhyme  he  had  got  hold  of. 

When  we  came  back,  nothing  would  serve 
him  but  he  must  read  us  the  poems  he  had  been 
speaking  of;  and  Miss  Pole  encouraged  him  in 
his  proposal,  I  thought,  because  she  wished  me 
to  hear  his  beautiful  reading,  of  which  she  had 


a  IDisit  to  an  ©10  JSacbeloc.  67 

boasted;  but  she  afterward  said  it  was  because 
she  had  got  to  a  difficult  part  of  her  crochet, 
and  wanted  to  count  her  stitches  without  hav- 
ing to  talk.  Whatever  he  had  proposed  would 
have  been  right  to  Miss  Matty;  although  she 
did  fall  sound  asleep  within  five  minutes  after 
he  had  begun  a  long  poem  called  Locksley 
Hall,  and  had  a  comfortable  nap,  unobserved, 
till  he  ended;  when  the  cessation  of  his  voice 
wakened  her  up,  and  she  said,  feeling  that 
something  was  expected,  and  that  Miss  Pole 
was  counting: 

"What  a  pretty  book!" 

"Pretty!  madam!  it's  beautiful!  Pretty,  in- 
deed!" 

"Oh,  yes!  I  meant  beautiful?"  said  she, 
fluttered  at  his  disapproval  of  her  word.  "  It 
is  so  like  that  beautiful  poem  of  Dr.  Johnson's 
my  sister  used  to  read — I  forget  the  name  of 
it;  what  was  it,  my  dear?"  turning  to  me. 

"  Which  do  you  mean,  ma'am?  What  was 
it  about?" 

"  I  don't  remember  what  it  was  about,  and 
I've  quite  forgotten  what  the  name  of  it  was  ; 
but  it  was  written  by  Dr.  Johnson,  and  was 
very  beautiful,  and  very  like  what  Mr.  Hol- 
brook  has  just  been  reading." 

"  I  don't  remember  it,"  said  he,  reflectively. 
"But  I  don't  know  Dr.  Johnson's  poems  well. 
I  must  read  them." 

As  we  were  getting  into  the  fly  to  return,  I 
heard  Mr.  Holbrook  say  he  should  call  on  the 


68  CranforD. 

ladies  soon,  and  inquire  how  they  got  home  ; 
and  this  evidently  pleased  and  fluttered  Miss 
Matty  at  the  time  he  said  it ;  but  after  we  had 
lost  sight  of  the  old  house  among  the  trees, 
her  sentiments  toward  the  master  of  it  were 
gradually  absorbed  into  a  distressing  wonder 
as  to  whether  Martha  had  broken  her  word, 
and  seized  on  the  opportunity  of  her  mistress' 
absence  to  have  a  ' '  follower. ' '  Martha  looked 
good,  and  steady,  and  composed  enough,  as 
she  came  to  help  us  out;  she  was  always  care- 
ful of  Miss  Matty,  and  to-night  she  made  use 
of  this  unlucky  speech  ; 

"Eh  !  dear  ma'am,  to  think  of  3'our  going 
out  in  an  evening  in  such  a  thin  shawl !  It  is 
no  better  than  muslin.  At  your  age,  ma'am, 
you  should  be  careful." 

"  My  age  !"  said  Miss  Matty,  almost  speak- 
ing crossly,  for  her;  for  she  was  usually 
gentle.  ' '  My  age !  Why,  how  old  do  you 
think  I  am,  that  you  talk  about  my  age?" 

"Well,  ma'am  !  I  should  say  you  were  not 
far  short  of  sixty  ;  but  folks'  looks  is  often 
against  them — and  I'm  sure  I  meant  no  harm." 

"  Martha,  I'm  not  yet  fifty- two  !"  said  Miss 
Matty  with  grave  emphasis;  for  probably  the 
remembrance  of  her  youth  had  come  ver>' 
vividly  before  her  this  day,  and  she  was  an- 
noyed at  finding  that  golden  time  so  far  away 
in  the  past. 

But  she  never  spoke  of  any  former  and  more 
intimate  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Holbrook.  She 


a  \Di3it  to  an  ®ID  JSacbelor.  69 

had  probably  met  with  so  little  sympathy  in 
her  early  love,  that  she  had  shut  it  up  close  in 
her  heart ;  and  it  was  only  by  a  sort  of  watch- 
ing, which  I  could  hardly  avoid,  since  Miss 
Pole's  confidence,  that  I  saw  how  faithful  her 
poor  heart  had  been  in  its  sorrow  and  its 
silence. 

She  gave  me  some  good  reason  for  wearing 
her  best  cap  every  day,  and  sat  near  the  win- 
dow, in  spite  of  her  rheumatism,  in  order  to 
see,  without  being  seen,  down  into  the  street. 

He  came.  He  put  his  open  palms  upon  his 
knees,  which  were  far  apart,  as  he  sat  with 
his  head  bent  down,  whistling,  after  we  had 
replied  to  his  inquiries  about  our  safe  return. 
Suddenly,  he  jumped  up. 

"Well,  madam!  have  j^ou  any  commands 
for  Paris?  I  am  going  there  in  a  week  or 
two." 

"To  Paris  ! "  we  both  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  madam  !  I've  never  been  there,  and 
always  had  a  wish  to  go ;  and  I  think  if  I  don't 
go  soon,  I  mayn't  go  at  all ;  so  as  soon  as  the 
hay  is  got  in  I  shall  go,  before  harvest-time." 

We  were  so  much  astonished  that  we  had  no 
commissions. 

Just  as  he  was  going  out  of  the  room,  he 
turned  back,  with  his  favorite  exclamation: 

"  God  bless  my  soul,  madam  !  but  I  nearly 
forgot  half  my  errand.  Here  are  the  poems  for 
you,  you  admired  so  much  the  other  evening 
at  my  house."     He  tugged  away  at  a  parcel  in 


70 


Granfor&. 


his  coat-pocket.  "  Good-by,  miss,"  said  he; 
"  good-by,  Matty ;  take  care  of  yourself."  And 
he  was  gone.  But  he  had  given  her  a  book, 
and  he  had  called  her  Matty,  just  as  he  used 
to  do  thirty  5'ears  ago. 

"I  wish  he  would  not  go  to  Paris,"  said 
Miss  Matilda,  anxiously.  "I  don't  believe 
frogs  will  agree  with  him  ;  he  used  to  have  to 
be  very  careful  what  he  ate,  which  was  curious 
in  so  strong-looking  a  young  man." 

Soon  after  this  I  took  my  leave,  giving  many 
an  injunction  to  Martha  to  look  after  her  mis- 
tress, aud  to  let  me  know  if  she  thought  that 
Miss  Matilda  was  not  so  well ;  in  which  case  I 
would  volunteer  a  visit  to  my  old  friend,  with- 
out noticing  Martha's  intelligence  to  her. 

Accordingly,  I  received  a  line  or  two  from 
Martha  ev-ery  now  and  then ;  and,  about  No- 
vember, I  had  a  note  to  say  her  mistress  was 
"very  low  and  sadly  off  her  food  ;  "  and  the 
account  made  me  so  uneasy,  that,  although 
Martha  did  not  decidedly  summon  me,  I  packed 
up  my  things  and  went. 

I  received  a  warm  welcome,  in  spite  of  the 
little  flurry  produced  by  my  impromptu  visit, 
for  I  had  only  been  able  to  give  a  day's  notice. 
Miss  Matilda  looked  miserably  ill,  and  I  pre- 
pared to  comfort  and  cosset  her. 

I  went  down  to  have  a  private  talk  with 
IMartha. 

' '  How  long  has  your  mistress  been  so  poor- 
ly?" I  asked,  as  I  stood  by  the  kitchen  fire. 


a  IDisft  to  an  ©l&  JSSacbclor. 


71 


"  Well !  I  think  it's  better  than  a  fortnight: 
it  is,  I  know;  it  was  one  Tuesday,  after  Miss 
Pole  had  been,  that  she  went  into  this  moping 
way.  I  thought  she  was  tired,  and  it  would 
go  off  with  a  night's  rest:  but,  no  !  she  has 
gone  on  and  on  ever  since,  till  I  thought  it  my 
duty  to  write  to  you,  ma'am." 

"  You  did  quite  right,  Martha.  It  is  a  com- 
fort to  think  she  has  so  faithful  a  servant  about 
her.  And  I  hope  you  find  your  place  com- 
fortable ?" 

"  Well,  ma'am,  missus  is  very  kind,  and 
there's  plenty  to  eat  and  drink,  and  no  more 
work  but  what  I  can  do  easily — but " — Martha 
hesitated. 

"But  what,  Martha?" 

"Why,  it  seems  so  hard  of  missus  not  to  let 
me  have  any  followers :  there's  such  lots  of 
young  fellows  in  the  town  ;  and  many  a  one  has 
as  much  as  offered  to  keep  company  with  me  ; 
and  I  may  never  be  in  such  a  likely  place  again, 
and  it's  like  wasting  an  opportunity.  Many  a 
girl  as  I  know  would  have  'era  unbeknownst  to 
missus;  but  I've  given  my  word,  and  I'll  stick 
to  it;  or  else  this  is  just  the  house  for  missus 
never  to  be  the  wiser  if  they  did  come;  and  it's 
such  a  capable  kitchen — there's  such  good 
dark  corners  in  it — I'd  be  bound  to  hide  any 
one.  I  counted  up  last  Sunday  night — for  I'll 
not  deny  I  was  crying  because  I  had  to  shut 
the  door  in  Jim  Hearn's  face;  and  he's  a  steady 
young  man,  fit  for  any  girl;  only  I  had  given 


72 


Cranfor&. 


missus  my  word."  Martha  was  all  but  crying 
again,  and  I  had  little  comfort  to  give  her,  for 
I  knew,  from  old  experience,  of  the  horror 
with  which  both  the  Misses  Jenkyns  looked 
upon  "followers,"  and  in  Miss  Matty's  present 
nervous  state  this  dread  was  not  likely  to  be 
lessened. 

I  went  to  see  Miss  Pole  the  next  day,  and 
took  her  completely  by  surprise,  for  she  had 
not  been  to  see  Miss  Matilda  for  two  days. 

'  'And  now  I  must  go  back  with  you,  my  dear; 
for  I  promised  to  let  her  know  how  Thomas 
Holbrook  went  on;  and  I'm  sorry  to  say  his 
housekeeper  has  sent  me  word  to-day  that  he 
hasn't  long  to  live.  Poor  Thomas!  That  jour- 
ney to  Paris  was  quite  too  much  for  him.  His 
housekeeper  says  he  has  hardly  ever  been 
round  his  fields  since;  but  just  sits  with  his 
hands  on  his  knees  in  the  counting-house,  not 
reading  or  anything,  but  only  saying,  what  a 
wonderful  city  Paris  was  !  Paris  has  much  to 
answer  for,  if  it's  killed  my  cousin  Thomas, 
for  a  better  man  never  lived." 

"Does  Miss  Matilda  know  of  his  illness?" 
asked  I,  a  new  light  as  to  the  cause  of  her  in- 
disposition dawning  upon  me. 

"  Dear,  to  be  sure,  yes  !  Has  not  she  told 
you?  I  let  her  know  a  fortnight  ago,  or 
more,  when  first  I  heard  of  it.  How  odd  she 
should  n't  have  told  you  !" 

Not  at  all,  I  thought;  but  I  did  not  say  any- 
thing.    I  felt  almost  guilty  of  having  spied 


B  Disit  to  an  ©Id  :fl3acbelor. 


73 


too  curiously  into  that  tender  heart,  and  I  was 
not  going  to  speak  of  its  secrets — hidden,  Miss 
Matty  believed,  from  all  the  world.  I  ushered 
Miss  Pole  into  Miss  Matilda's  little  drawing- 
room;  and  then  left  them  alone.  But  I  was 
not  surprised  when  Martha  came  to  my  bed- 
room door  to  ask  me  to  go  down  to  dinner 
alone,  for  that  missus  had  one  of  her  bad  head- 
aches. She  came  into  the  drawing-room  at 
tea-time;  but  it  was  evidently  an  effort  to  her; 
and,  as  if  to  make  up  for  some  reproachful 
feeling  against  her  late  sister,  Miss  Jenkyns, 
which  had  been  troubling  her  all  the  afternoon, 
and  for  which  she  now  felt  penitent,  she  kept 
telling  me  how  good  and  how  clever  Deborah 
was  in  her  youth  ;  how  she  used  to  settle  what 
gowns  they  were  to  wear  at  all  the  parties 
(faint,  ghostly  ideas  of  grim  parties  far  away 
in  the  distance,  when  Miss  Matty  and  Miss 
Pole  were  young)  ;  and  how  Deborah  and  her 
mother  had  started  the  benefit  society  for  the 
poor,  and  taught  girls  cooking  and  plain  sew- 
ing; and  how  Deborah  had  once  danced  with  a 
lord;  and  how  she  used  to  visit  at  Sir  Peter 
Arley's,  and  try  to  remodel  the  quiet  rectory 
establishment  on  the  plans  of  Arley  Hall, 
where  they  kept  thirty  servants;  and  how  she 
had  nursed  Miss  Matty  through  a  long,  long 
illness,  of  which  I  had  never  heard  before,  but 
which  I  now  dated  in  my  own  mind  as  follow- 
ing the  dismissal  of  the  suit  of  Mr.  Holbrook. 
So  we  talked  softly  and  quietly  of  old  times, 
through  the  long  November  evening. 


74  GranforJ). 

The  next  day  Miss  Pole  brought  us  word 
that  Mr.  Holbrook  was  dead.  Miss  Matty- 
heard  the  news  in  silence;  in  fact,  from  the 
account  of  the  previous  day,  it  was  oul)'-  what 
we  had  to  expect.  Miss  Pole  kept  calling 
upon  us  for  some  expression  of  regret,  by  ask- 
ing if  it  was  not  sad  that  he  was  gone  ;  and 
saying : 

"To  think  of  that  pleasant  day  last  June, 
when  he  seemed  so  well!  And  he  might  have 
lived  this  dozen  3'ears  if  he  had  not  gone  to 
that  wicked  Paris,  where  they  are  alwa3'S  hav- 
ing revolutions." 

She  paused  for  some  demonstration  on  our 
part.  I  saw  Miss  Matty  could  not  speak,  she 
was  trembling  so  nervously;  so  I  said  what  I 
really  felt;  and  after  a  call  of  some  duration — 
all  the  time  of  which  I  have  no  doubt  Miss 
Pole  thought  Miss  Matty  received  the  news 
very  calmly — our  visitor  took  her  leave.  But 
the  effort  at  self-control  Miss  Matty  had  made 
to  conceal  her  feeling — a  concealment  she 
practiced  even  with  me,  for  she  has  never 
alluded  to  Mr.  Holbrook  again,  although  the 
book  he  gave  her  lies  with  her  Bible  on  the 
little  table  by  her  bedside;  she  did  cot  think 
I  heard  her  when  she  asked  the  little  milliner 
of  Cranford  to  make  her  caps  something  like 
the  Honorable  Mrs.  Jamieson's,  or  that  I 
noticed  the  reply: 

"But  she  wears  widows'  caps,  ma'am?" 

"Oh!  I  only  meant  something  in  that  style; 


B  msit  to  an  ©ID  JBacbclor. 


75 


not  widows',  of  course,  but  rather  like  Mrs. 
Jamieson's." 

This  effort  at  conceahnent  was  the  beginning 
of  the  tremulous  motion  of  head  and  hands 
which  I  have  seen  ever  since  in  Miss  Matty. 

The  evening  of  the  day  on  which  we  heard 
of  Mr.  Holbrook's  death,  Miss  Matilda  was 
very  silent  and  thoughtful;  after  prayers  she 
called  Martha  back,  and  then  she  stood  uncer 
tain  what  to  say. 

"Martha!"  she  said  at  last;  "you  are 
young;"  and  then  she  made  so  long  a  pause, 
that  Martha,  to  remind  her  of  her  half-finished 
sentence,  dropped  a  curtsy,  and  said: 

"Yes,  please,  ma'am;  two-and-twenty  last 
third  of  October,  please,  ma'am." 

"And  perhaps,  Martha,  you  may  some  time 
meet  with  a  young  man  you  like,  and  who 
likes  you.  I  did  say  you  were  not  to  have 
followers;  but  if  you  meet  with  such  a  young 
man,  and  tell  me,  and  I  find  he  is  respectable, 
I  have  no  objection  to  his  coming  to  see  you 
once  a  week.  God  forbid!"  said  she,  in  a  low 
voice,  '  'that  I  should  grieve  any  young  hearts. ' ' 
She  spoke  as  if  she  were  providing  for  some 
distant  contingency,  and  was  rather  startled 
when  Martha  made  her  ready,  eager  answer: 

"Please,  ma'am,  there's  Jim  Hearn,  and 
he's  a  joiner,  making  three  and  sixpence  a 
day,  and  six  foot  one  in  his  stocking-feet, 
please,  ma'am;  and  if  you'll  ask  about  him  to- 
morrow morning,  every  one  will  give  him  a 


76  CrantotD. 

character  for  steadiness;  aud  he'll  be  glad 
enough  to  come  to-morrow  night,  I'll  be 
bound." 

Though  Miss  Matty  was  startled,  she  sub- 
mitted to  Fate  aud  lyove. 


CHAPTER  V. 

OLD  LETTERS. 

I  HAVE  often  noticed  that  almost  every  one 
has  his  own  individual  small  economies — 
careful  habits  of  saving  fractions  of  pennies  in 
some  one  peculiar  direction — any  disturbance 
of  which  annoys  him  more  than  spending  shil- 
lings or  pounds  on  some  real  extravagance. 
An  old  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance,  who 
took  the  intelligence  of  the  failure  of  a  joint- 
stock  bank,  in  which  some  of  his  money  was 
invested,  with  stoical  mildness,  worried  his 
family  all  through  a  long  summer's  day  be- 
cause one  of  them  had  torn  (instead  of  cutting) 
out  the  written  leaves  of  his  now  useless  bank- 
book; of  course,  the  corresponding  pages  at  the 
other  end  came  out  as  well;  and  this  little  un- 
necessary waste  of  paper  (his  private  economy) 
chafed  him  more  than  all  the  loss  of  his  money. 
Envelopes  fretted  his  soul  terribly  when  they 
first  came  in;  the  only  way  in  which  he  could 
reconcile  himself  to  such  waste  of  his  cherished 
article  was  by  patiently  turning  inside  out  all 
that  were  sent  to  him,  and  so  making  them 
serve  again.  Even  now,  though  tamed  by  age, 
I  see  him  casting  wistful  glances  at  his  daugh- 
ters when  they  send  a  whole  instead  of  a  half 
(77) 


78  CrantorD. 

sheet  of  note-paper,  with  the  three  lines  of  ac- 
ceptance to  an  invitation,  written  on  only  one 
of  the  sides.  I  am  not  above  owning  that  I 
have  this  human  weakness  myself.  String  is 
my  foible.  My  pockets  get  full  of  little  hanks 
of  it,  picked  up  and  twisted  together,  ready  for 
uses  that  never  come.  I  am  seriously  annoyed 
if  any  one  cuts  the  string  of  a  parcel,  instead 
of  patiently  and  faithfully  undoing  it  fold  by 
fold.  How  people  can  bring  themselves  to  use 
India-rubber  rings,  which  are  a  sort  of  deificat 
tion  of  string,  as  lightl}^  as  they  do,  I  canno- 
imagine.  To  me  an  India-rubber  ring  is  a  pre- 
cious treasure.  I  have  one  which  is  not  new; 
one  that  I  picked  up  off  the  floor  nearly  six 
years  ago.  I  have  really  tried  to  use  it,  but 
ray  heart  failed  me,  and  I  could  not  commit 
the  extravagance. 

Small  pieces  of  butter  grieve  others.  They 
cannot  attend  to  conversation,  because  of  the 
annoyance  occasioned  by  the  habit  which  some 
people  have  of  invariably  taking  more  butter 
than  they  want.  Have  you  not  seen  the  anx- 
ious look  (almost  mesmeric)  which  such  per- 
sons fix  on  the  article  ?  They  would  feel  it  a 
relief  if  they  might  bury  it  out  of  their  sight, 
by  popping  it  into  their  own  mouths,  and  swal- 
lowing it  down  ;  and  they  are  really  made 
happy  if  the  person  on  whose  plate  it  lies  un- 
used suddenly  breaks  off  a  piece  of  toast 
(which  he  does  not  want  at  all)  and  eats  up 
his  butter.     They  think  that  this  is  not  waste. 


Olt>  tcttexe. 


79 


Now  Miss  Matty  Jenkyns  was  chary  of  can- 
dles. We  had  many  devices  to  use  as  few  as 
possible.  In  the  winter  afternoons  she  would 
sit  knitting  for  two  or  three  hours  ;  .she  could 
do  this  in  the  dark,  or  by  fire-light ;  and  when 
I  asked  if  I  might  not  ring  for  candles  to  finish 
stitching  my  wristbands,  she  told  me  to  "keep 
blind  man's  holiday."  They  were  usually 
brought  in  with  tea  ;  but  we  onl}^  burned  one 
at  a.  time.  As  we  lived  in  constant  preparation 
for  a  friend  who  might  come  in  any  evening 
(but  who  never  did),  it  required  some  contriv- 
ance to  keep  our  two  candles  of  the  same 
length,  ready  to  be  lighted,  and  to  look  as  if 
we  burned  two  always.  The  candles  took  it 
in  turns  ;  and,  whatever  we  might  be  talking 
about  or  doing,  Miss  Matty's  eyes  were  habit- 
ually fixed  upon  the  candle,  ready  to  jump  up 
and  extinguish  it,  and  to  light  the  other  before 
they  had  become  too  uneven  in  length  to  be 
restored  to  equality  in  the  course  of  the  even- 
ing. 

One  night,  I  remember  that  this  candle  econ- 
omy particularly  annoyed  me.  I  had  been  very 
much  tired  of  my  compulsory  "blind  man's 
holiday,"  especially  as  Miss  Matty  had  fallen 
asleep,  and  I  did  not  like  to  stir  the  fire,  and 
run  the  risk  of  awakening  her  ;  so  I  could  not 
even  sit  on  the  rug,  and  scorch  myself  with 
sewing  by  fire-light,  according  to  my  usual  cus- 
tom. I  fancied  Miss  Matty  must  be  dreaming 
of  her  early  life ;    for  she  spoke  one  or  two 


8o  Cranford. 

words,  in  her  uneasy  sleep,  bearing  reference 
to  persons  who  were  dead  long  before.  When 
Martha  brought  in  the  lighted  candle  and  tea, 
Miss  Matty  started  into  wakefulness,  with  a 
strange,  bewildered  look  around,  as  if  we  were 
not  the  people  she  expected  to  see  about  her. 
There  was  a  little  sad  expression  that  shad- 
owed her  face  as  she  recognized  me ;  but  imme- 
diately afterward  she  tried  to  give  me  her  usual 
smile.  All  through  tea-time,  her  talk  ran  upon 
the  days  of  her  childhood  and  youth.  Perhaps 
this  reminded  her  of  the  desirableness  of  look- 
ing over  all  the  old  family  letters,  and  destroy- 
ing such  as  ought  not  to  be  allowed  to  fall  into 
the  hands  of  strangers ;  for  she  had  often  spo- 
ken of  the  necessity  of  this  task,  but  had  al- 
ways shrunk  from  it,  with  a  timid  dread  of 
something  painful.  To-night,  however,  she 
rose  up  after  tea,  and  went  for  them — in  the 
dark,  for  she  piqued  herself  on  the  precise  neat- 
ness of  all  her  chamber  arrangements,  and 
used  to  look  uneasily  at  me  when  I  lighted  a 
bed-candle  to  go  to  another  room  for  anything. 
When  she  returned,  there  was  a  faint,  pleasant 
smell  of  Tonquin  beans  in  the  room.  I  had 
always  noticed  this  scent  about  any  of  the 
things  which  had  belonged  to  her  mother;  and 
many  of  the  letters  were  addressed  to  her — 
yellow  bundles  of  love-letters,  sixty  or  seventy 
years  old. 

Miss  Matty  undid  the  packet  with  a  sigh; 
but  she  stifled  it  directly,  as  if  it  were  hardly 


©ID  Xetters.  8i 


right  to  regret  the  flight  of  time,  or  of  life 
either.  We  agreed  to  look  them  over  sepa- 
rately, each  taking  a  different  letter  out  of  the 
same  l)undle,  and  describing  its  contents  to  the 
other,  before  destroying  it.  I  never  knew 
what  sad  work  the  reading  of  old  letters  was 
before  that  evening,  though  I  could  hardly  tell 
why.  The  letters  were  as  happy  as  letters 
could  be — at  least  those  early  letters  were. 
There  was  in  them  a  vivid  and  intense  sense 
of  the  present  time,  which  seemed  so  strong 
and  full,  as  if  it  could  never  pass  away,  and  as 
if  the  warm,  living  hearts  that  so  expressed 
themselves  could  never  die,  and  be  as  nothing 
to  the  sunny  earth.  I  should  have  felt  less 
melancholy,  I  believe,  if  the  letters  had  been 
more  so.  I  saw  the  tears  quietly  stealing 
down  the  well-worn  furrows  of  Miss  Matty's 
cheeks,  and  her  spectacles  often  wanted  wip- 
ing. I  trusted  at  last  that  she  would  light  the 
other  candle,  for  my  own  eyes  were  rather 
dim,  and  I  wanted  more  light  to  see  the  pale, 
faded  ink;  but  no — even  through  her  tears, 
she  saw  and  remembered  her  little  economical 
ways. 

The  earliest  set  of  letters  were  two  bundles 
tied  together,  and  ticketed  (in  Miss  Jenkyns' 
handwriting):  "  Letters  interchanged  between 
my  ever  honored  father  and  my  dearly  beloved 
mother  prior  to  their  marriage  in  July,  1774." 
I  should  guess  that  the  rector  of  Cranford  was 
about  twenty-seven  years  of  age  when  he  wrote 
6 


82  Crantord. 

those  letters;  and  Miss  Matty  told  rae  that  her 
mother  was  just  eighteen  at  the  time  of  her 
wedding.  With  my  idea  of  the  rector,  derived 
from  a  picture  in  the  dining  parlor,  stiff  and 
stately,  in  a  huge  full-bottomed  wig,  with  gown, 
cassock,  and  bands,  and  his  hand  upon  a  copy 
of  the  only  sermon  he  ever  published — it  was 
strange  to  read  these  letters.  They  were  full  of 
eager,  passionate  ardor;  short  homely  sen- 
tences, right  fresh  from  the  heart  (very  different 
from  the  grand  Latinized,  Johnsonian  style  of 
the  printed  sermon,  preached  before  some  judge 
at  assize  time).  His  letter  was  a  curious  con- 
trast to  those  of  his  girl-bride.  She  was  evi- 
dently rather  annoyed  at  his  demands  upon  her 
for  expressions  of  love,  and  could  not  quite  un- 
derstand what  he  meant  by  repeating  the  same 
thing  over  in  so  many  different  ways;  but  what 
she  was  quite  clear  about  was  her  longing  for 
a  white  "  Paduasoy  ' ' — whatever  that  might  be; 
and  six  or  seven  letters  were  principally  occu- 
pied in  asking  her  lover  to  use  his  influence 
with  her  parents  (who  evidently  kept  her  in 
good  order)  to  obtain  this  or  that  article  of 
dress,  more  especially  the  white  "Paduasoy." 
He  cared  nothing  how  she  was  dressed  ;  she 
was  always  lovely  enough  for  him,  as  he  took 
pains  to  assure  her,  when  she  begged  him  to 
express  in  his  answers  a  predilection  for  par- 
ticular pieces  of  finer}'',  in  order  that  she  might 
show  what  he  said  to  her  parents.  But  at 
length  he  seemed  to  find  out  that  she  would 


®l&  Xetters.  83 


not  be  married  till  she  had  a  trousseau  to  her 
mind;  and  then  he  sent  her  a  letter,  which  h?d 
evidently  accompanied  a  whole  box  full  of 
finery,  and  in  which  he  requested  that  she 
might  be  dressed  in  everything  her  heart  de- 
sired. This  was  the  first  letter,  ticketed  in  a 
frail,  delicate  hand,  "From  my  dearest  John." 
Shortly  afterward  they  were  married — I  sup- 
pose from  the  intermission  in  their  correspond- 
ence. 

"We  must  burn  them,  I  think,"  said  Miss 
Matty,  looking  doubtfully  at  me.  "No  one 
will  care  for  them  when  I  am  gone."  And  one 
by  one  she  dropped  them  into  the  middle  of  the 
fire;  watching  each  blaze  up,  die  out,  and  rise 
away,  in  faint,  white,  ghostly  semblance,  up 
the  chimney,  before  she  gave  up  another  to  the 
same  fate.  The  room  was  light  enough  now; 
but  I,  like  her,  was  fascinated  into  watching 
the  destruction  of  those  letters,  into  which  the 
honest  warmth  of  a  manly  heart  had  been 
poured  forth. 

The  next  letter,  likewise  docketed  by  Miss 
Jenkyns,  was  endorsed:  "Letter  of  pious  con- 
gratulation and  exhortation  from  my  venerable 
grandfather  to  my  mother,  on  occasion  of  my 
own  birth.  Also  some  practical  remarks  on  the 
desirability  of  keeping  warm  the  extremities  of 
infants,  from  my  excellent  grandmother." 

The  first  part  was,  indeed,  a  severe  and  forci- 
ble picture  of  the  responsibilities  of  mothers, 
and  a  warning  against  the  evils  that  were  in 


84  CrantorD. 

the  world,  and  Ij'ing  in  ghastly  wait  for  the 
little  baby  of  two  days  old.  His  wife  did  not 
write,  said  the  old  gentleman,  because  he  had 
forbidden  it,  she  being  indisposed  with  a 
sprained  ankle,  which  (he  said)  quite  incapaci- 
tated her  from  holding  a  pen.  However,  at 
the  foot  of  the  page  was  a  small  "T.o.,"  and 
on  turning  it  over,  sure  enough,  there  was  a 
letter  to  "  My  dear,  dearest  Molly,"  begging 
her,  when  she  left  her  room,  whatever  she  did, 
to  go  lip  stairs  before  going  do7V7i;  and  telling 
her  to  wrap  her  baby's  feet  up  in  flannel,  and 
keep  it  warm  by  the  fire,  although  it  was  sum- 
mer, for  babies  were  so  tender. 

It  was  pretty  to  see  from  the  letters,  which 
were  evidently  exchanged  with  some  frequency, 
between  the  3'^oung  mother  and  the  grand- 
mother, how  the  girlish  vanity  was  being 
weeded  out  of  her  heart  by  love  for  her  baby. 
The  white  "Paduasoy"  figured  again  in  the 
letters,  with  almost  as  much  vigor  as  before. 
In  one,  it  was  being  made  into  a  christening 
cloak  for  the  baby.  It  decked  it  when  it  went 
with  its  parents  to  spend  a  day  or  two  at  Arley 
Hall.  It  added  to  its  charms  when  it  was 
"the  prettiest  little  baby  that  ever  was  seen. 
Dear  mother,  I  wish  you  could  see  her!  With- 
out any  parshality,  I  do  think  she  will  grow 
up  a  regular  bewty ! "  I  thought  of  Miss  Jen- 
kyns,  gray,  withered,  and  wrinkled;  and  I 
wondered  if  her  mother  had  known  her  in 
the  courts  of  heaven ;  and  then  I  knew  that 


©10  letters.  85 


she  had,  and  that  they  stood  there  in  angelic 
guise. 

There  was  a  great  gap  before  any  of  the 
rector's  letters  appeared.  And  then  his  wife 
had  changed  her  mode  of  endorsement.  It  was 
no  longer  from  "My  dearest  John";  it  was 
from  "My  honored  Husband."  The  letters 
were  written  on  occasion  of  the  publication  of 
the  same  sermon  which  was  represented  in  the 
picture.  The  preaching  before  ' '  My  lyord 
Judge,"  and  the  "  publishing  by  request,"  was 
evidently  the  culminating  point — the  event  of 
his  life.  It  had  been  necessary  for  him  to  go 
up  to  London  to  superintend  it  through  the 
press.  Many  friends  had  to  be  called  upon, 
and  consulted,  before  he  could  decide  on  any 
printer  fit  for  so  onerous  a  task  ;  and  at  length 
it  was  arranged  that  J.  and  J.  Rivingtons  were 
to  have  the  honorable  responsibility.  The  wor- 
thy rector  seemed  to  be  strung  up  by  the  occa- 
sion to  a  high  literary  pitch,  for  he  could  hardly 
write  a  letter  to  his  wife  without  cropping  out 
into  lyatin.  I  remember  the  end  of  one  of  his 
letters  ran  thus :  "I  shall  ever  hold  the  virtuous 
qualities  of  my  Molly  in  remembrance,  dum 
inctnor  ipse  nici,  dtini  spirihis  regit  arfus,^' 
which,  considering  that  the  English  of  his  cor- 
respondent was  sometimes  at  fault  in  grammar, 
and  often  in  spelling,  might  be  taken  as  a  proof 
of  how  much  he  "idealized"  his  Molly;  and, 
as  Miss  Jenkyns  used  to  say  :  "  People  talk  a 
great  deal  about  idealizing  nowadays,  whatever 


86  GianforO. 

that  may  mean."  But  this  was  nothing  to 
a  fit  of  writing  classical  poetry,  which  soon 
seized  him  ;  in  which  his  Mollie  figured  away 
as  ' '  Maria. ' '  The  letter  containing  the  cartneji 
was  endorsed  by  her:  ' '  Hebrew  verses  sent  me 
by  n\y  honored  husband.  I  thowt  to  have  had 
a  letter  about  killing  the  pig,  but  must  wait. 
Mem.,  to  send  the  poetr>'  to  Sir  Peter  Arley, 
as  my  husband  desires."  And  in  a  post- 
scriptum  note  in  his  handwriting,  it  was  stated 
that  the  Ode  had  appeared  in  The  Gentleman'' s 
Magazine,  December,  1782. 

Her  letters  back  to  her  husband  (treasured 
fondly  by  him  as  if  they  had  been  M.  T.  Cice- 
ronis  Epistolce)  were  more  satisfactory  to  an 
absent  husband  and  father,  than  his  could  ever 
have  been  to  her.  She  told  him  how  Deborah 
sewed  her  seam  very  neatly  every  day,  and 
read  to  her  in  the  books  he  had  sent  her;  how 
she  was  a  very  "forrard,"  good  child,  but 
would  ask  questions  her  mother  could  not 
answer;  but  how  she  did  not  let  herself  down 
by  saying  she  did  not  know,  but  took  to  stir- 
ring the  fire,  or  sending  the  "forrard"  child 
on  an  errand.  Matty  was  now  the  mother's 
darling,  and  promised  (like  her  sister  at  her 
age)  to  be  a  great  beauty. 

I  was  reading  this  aloud  to  Miss  Matt}-,  who 
smiled  and  sighed  a  little  at  the  hope,  so 
fondly  expressed,  that  "  little  Matty  might  not 
be  vain,  even  if  she  were  a  beauty." 

"  I  had  very  pretty  hair,  my  dear,"  said  Miss 


©ID  Xctters.  87 


Matilda,  "and  not  a  bad  mouth."  And  I  saw 
her  soon  afterward  adjust  her  cap  and  draw 
herself  up. 

But  to  return  to  Mrs.  Jenkyns'  letters.  She 
told  her  husband  about  the  poor  in  the  parish; 
what  homely  domestic  medicines  she  had  ad- 
ministered ;  what  kitchen  physic  she  had  sent. 
She  had  evidently  held  his  displeasure  as  a  rod 
in  pickle  over  the  heads  of  all  the  ne'er-do- 
wells.  She  asked  for  his  directions  about  the 
cows  and  pigs;  and  did  not  always  obtain 
them,  as  I  have  shown  before. 

The  kind  old  grandmother  was  dead,  when 
a  little  boy  was  born,  soon  after  the  publica- 
tion of  the  sermon ;  but  there  was  another 
letter  of  exhortation  from  the  grandfather, 
more  stringent  and  admonitory  than  ever,  now 
that  there  was  a  boy  to  be  guarded  from  the 
snares  of  the  world.  He  described  all  the 
various  sins  into  which  men  might  fall,  until 
I  wondered  how  any  man  ever  came  to  a  nat- 
ural death.  The  gallows  seemed  as  if  it  must 
have  been  the  termination  of  the  lives  of  most 
of  the  grandfather's  friends  and  acquaintance  ; 
and  I  was  not  surprised  at  the  way  in  which 
he  spoke  of  this  life  being  "  a  vale  of  tears." 

It  seemed  curious  that  I  should  never  have 
heard  of  this  brother  before ;  but  I  concluded 
that  he  had  died  young  ;  or  else  surely  his 
name  would  have  been  alluded  to  by  his  sisters. 

By  and  by  we  came  to  packets  of  Miss  Jen- 
kyns' letters.     These  Miss  Matty  did  regret  to 


88  CranforO. 

bum.  She  said  all  the  others  had  been  only 
interesting  to  those  who  loved  the  writers ;  and 
that  it  seemed  as  if  it  would  have  hurt  her  to 
allow  them  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  strangers, 
who  had  not  known  her  dear  mother,  and  how 
good  she  was,  although  she  did  not  alwaj's 
spell  quite  in  the  modern  fashion  ;  but  Debo- 
rah's letters  were  so  very  superior  !  Any  one 
might  profit  by  reading  them.  It  was  a  long 
time  since  she  had  read  Mrs.  Chapone,  but  she 
knew  she  used  to  think  that  Deborah  could 
have  said  the  same  things  quite  as  well ;  and 
as  for  Mrs.  Carter!  people  thought  a  deal  of  her 
letters,  just  because  she  had  written  Epidehis, 
but  she  was  quite  sure  Deborah  would  never 
have  made  use  of  such  a  common  expression 
as  "  I  canna  be  fashed  ! ' ' 

Miss  Matty  did  grudge  burning  these  letters, 
it  was  evident.  She  would  not  let  them  be 
carelessl}'  passed  over  with  any  quiet  reading, 
and  skipping,  to  myself.  She  took  them  from 
me,  and  even  lighted  the  second  candle  in  order 
to  read  them  aloud  with  a  proper  emphasis,  and 
without  stumbling  over  the  big  words.  Oh 
dear ;  how  I  wanted  facts  instead  of  reflections, 
before  those  letters  were  concluded  !  They 
lasted  us  two  nights  ;  and  I  won't  deny  that  I 
made  use  of  the  time  to  think  of  many  other 
things,  and  yet  I  was  always  at  my  post  at  the 
end  of  each  sentence. 

The  rector's  letters  and  those  of  his  wife  and 
mother-in-law,  had  all  been  tolerably  short  and 


©l&  Xetters.  89 


pithy,  written  in  a  straight  hand,  with  the  lines 
very  close  together.  Sometimes  the  whole  let- 
ter was  contained  on  a  mere  scrap  of  paper. 
The  paper  was  very  yellow,  and  the  ink  very 
brown  ;  some  of  the  sheets  were  (as  Miss  Matty 
made  me  observe)  the  old  original  post,  with 
the  stamp  in  the  corner,  representing  a  post-boy 
riding  for  life  and  twanging  his  horn.  The 
letters  of  Mrs.  Jenkyns  and  her  mother  were 
fastened  with  a  great  round  red  wafer ;  for  it 
was  before  Miss  Edgeworth's  Patro7iage  had 
banished  wafers  from  polite  society.  It  was 
evident,  from  the  tenor  of  what  was  said,  that 
franks  were  in  great  request,  and  were  even 
used  as  a  means  of  paying  debts  by  needy  mem- 
bers of  Parliament.  The  rector  sealed  his  epis- 
tles with  an  immense  coat-of-arms,  and  showed, 
by  the  care  with  which  he  had  performed  this 
ceremony,  that  he  expected  they  should  be  cut 
open,  not  broken  by  any  thoughtless  or  impa- 
tient hand.  Now,  Miss  Jenkyns'  letters  were 
of  a  later  date  in  form  and  writing.  She  wrote 
on  the  square  sheet,  which  we  have  learned  to 
call  old-fashioned.  Her  hand  was  admirably 
calculated,  together  with  her  use  of  many-syl- 
labled words,  to  fill  up  a  sheet,  and  then  came 
the  pride  and  delight  of  crossing.  Poor  Miss 
Matty  got  sadly  puzzled  with  this,  for  the  words 
gathered  size  like  snow-balls,  and  toward  the 
end  of  her  letter  Miss  Jenkyns  used  to  become 
quite  sesquipedalian.  In  one  to  her  father, 
slightly  theological   and    controversial   in   its 


90  CranforD. 

tone,  she  had  spoken  of  Herod,  Tetrarch,  of 
Idumea.  Miss  Matty  read  it  "  Herod  Petrarch 
of  Etruriae,"  and  was  just  as  well  pleased  as  if 
she  had  been  right, 

I  can't  quite  remember  the  date,  but  I  think 
it  was  in  1805  that  Miss  Jenkyns  wrote  the 
longest  series  of  letters,  on  occasion  of  her  ab- 
sence on  a  visit  to  some  friends  near  Newcastle- 
upon-Tyne.  These  friends  were  intimate  with 
the  commandant  of  the  garrison  there,  and 
heard  from  him  of  all  the  preparations  that 
were  being  made  to  repel  the  invasion  of  Bona- 
parte, which  some  people  imagined  might  take 
place  at  the  mouth  of  the  Tyne.  Miss  Jenkyns 
was  evidently  very  much  alarmed;  and  the  first 
part  of  her  letters  was  often  written  in  pretty 
intelligible  English,  conveying  particulars  of 
the  preparations  which  were  made  in  the  family 
with  whom  she  was  residing  against  the  dread- 
ed event;  the  bundles  of  clothes  that  were 
packed  up  ready  for  a  flight  to  Alston  Moor  (a 
wild,  hilly  piece  of  ground  between  Northum- 
berland and  Cumberland);  the  signal  that  was 
to  be  given  for  this  flight,  and  for  the  simulta- 
neous turning  out  of  the  volunteers  under  arms, 
which  said  signal  was  to  consist  (if  I  remember 
rightly)  in  ringing  the  church  bells  in  a  par- 
ticular and  ominous  manner.  One  day,  when 
Miss  Jenkyns  and  her  hosts  were  at  a  dinner- 
party in  Newcastle,  this  warning  summons  was 
actually  given  (not  a  very  wise  proceeding,  if 
there  be  any  truth  in  the  moral  attached  to  the 


©l&  Xctters.  91 


fable  of  The  Boy  and  the  Wolf  ;  but  so  it  was), 
and  Miss  Jenkyns,  hardly  recovered  from  her 
fright,  wrote  the  next  day  to  describe  the 
sound,  the  breathless  shock,  the  hurry  and 
alarm;  and  then,  taking  breath,  she  added: 
"How  trivial,  my  dear  father,  do  all  our  ap- 
prehensions of  the  last  evening  appear,  at  the 
present  moment,  to  calm  and  inquiring  minds!" 
And  here  Miss  Matty  broke  in  with:  "But, 
indeed,  my  dear,  they  were  not  at  all  trivial  or 
trifling  at  the  time.  I  know  I  used  to  wake 
up  in  the  night  many  a  time  and  think  I  heard 
the  tramp  of  the  French  entering  Cranford. 
Many  people  talked  of  hiding  themselves  in 
the  salt  mines;  and  meat  would  have  kept 
capitally  down  there,  only  perhaps  we  should 
have  been  thirsty.  And  my  father  preached  a 
whole  set  of  sermons  on  the  occasion;  one  set 
in  the  mornings,  all  about  David  and  Goliath, 
to  spirit  up  the  people  to  fighting  with  spades 
or  bricks,  if  need  were;  and  the  other  set  in  the 
afternoons,  proving  that  Napoleon  (that  was 
another  name  for  Bony,  as  we  used  to  call  him) 
was  all  the  same  as  an  Apollyon  and  Abaddon. 
I  remember,  my  father  rather  thought  he 
should  be  asked  to  print  this  last  set,  but  the 
parish  had,  perhaps,  had  enough  of  them  with 
hearing." 

Peter  Marmaduke  Arley  Jenkyns  ("  poor 
Peter  !"  as  Miss  Matty  began  to  call  him) 
was  at  school  at  Shrewsbury  by  this  time. 
The  rector  took  up  his  pen,  and  rubbed  up  his 


9-i  CranforJ). 

Latin,  once  more  to  correspond  with  his  boy. 
It  was  very  clear  that  the  lad's  were  what  are 
called  show  letters.  They  were  of  a  highly 
mental  description,  giving  an  account  of  his 
studies,  and  his  intellectual  hopes  of  various 
kinds,  with  an  occasional  quotation  from  the 
classics  ;  but,  now  and  then  the  animal  nature 
broke  out  in  such  a  little  sentence  as  this,  evi- 
dentlj'  written  in  a  trembling  hurrj',  after  the 
letter  had  been  inspected  :  ' '  Mother,  dear,  do 
send  me  a  cake,  and  put  plenty  of  citron  in." 
The  '  *  Mother,  dear, ' '  probably  answered  her 
boy  in  the  form  of  cakes  and  "goody,"  for 
there  were  none  of  her  letters  among  this  set ; 
but  a  whole  collection  of  the  rector's,  to  whom 
the  Latin  in  his  boy's  letters  was  like  a  trumpet 
to  the  old  war-horse.  I  do  not  know  much 
about  Latin,  certainly,  and  it  is,  perhaps,  an 
ornamental  language,  but  not  very  useful,  I 
think — at  least  to  judge  from  the  bits  I  re- 
member out  of  the  rector's  letters.  One  was  : 
"  You  have  not  got  that  town  in  your  map  of 
Ireland;  \>\\.\. Bo7ius Barnardus no7i  videt  omnia, 
as  the  Proverbia  say. ' '  Presently  it  became  very 
evident  that  "poor  Peter"  got  himself  into 
many  scrapes.  There  were  letters  of  stilted 
penitence  to  his  father,  for  some  wrong-doing; 
and,  among  them  all  was  a  badly  written, 
badly  sealed,  badly  directed,  blotted  note : 
"  My  dear,  dear,  dear,  dearest  mother,  I  will 
be  a  better  boy — I  will,  indeed  ;  but  don'*: 
please,  be  ill  for  me,  I  am  not  worth  it;  but  I 
will  be  good,  darling  mother." 


OlO  Xetters.  93 


Miss  Matty  could  not  speak  for  crying,  aftei 
she  had  read  this  note.  She  gave  it  to  me  in 
silence,  and  then  got  up  and  took  it  to  her 
sacred  recesses  in  her  own  room,  for  fear,  by 
any  chance,  it  might  get  burned.  '*  Poor 
Peter  !"  she  said,  "he  wa-s  always  in  scrapes; 
he  was  too  easy.  They  led  him  wrong,  and 
then  left  him  in  the  lurch.  But  he  was  too 
fond  of  mischief.  He  could  never  resist  a  joke. 
Poor  Peter!" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

POOR  PETER. 

POOR  Peter's  career  lay  before  hira  rather 
pleasantly  mapped  out  by  kind  friends, 
but  Bonus  Bernardus  non  videt  omnia,  in  this 
map  too.  He  was  to  win  honors  at  Shrews- 
bury school,  and  carry  them  thick  to  Cam- 
bridge, and  after  that  a  living  awaited  him, 
the  gift  of  his  godfather,  Sir  Peter  Arley. 
Poor  Peter!  his  lot  in  life  was  very  different  to 
what  his  friends  had  hoped  and  planned. 
Miss  Matty  told  me  all  about  it,  and  I  think  it 
was  a  relief  to  her  when  she  had  done  so. 

He  was  the  darling  of  his  mother,  who 
seemed  to  dote  on  all  her  children,  though 
she  was,  perhaps,  a  little  afraid  of  Deborah's 
superior  acquirements.  Deborah  was  the  fav- 
orite of  her  father,  and  when  Peter  disap- 
pointed him,  she  became  his  pride.  The  sole 
honor  Peter  brought  away  from  Shrewsbury 
was  the  reputation  of  being  the  best  good  fel- 
low that  ever  was,  and  of  being  the  captain  of 
the  school  in  the  art  of  practical  joking.  His 
father  was  disappointed,  but  set  about  remedy- 
ing the  matter  in  a  manly  way.  He  could  not 
afford  to  send  Peter  to  read  with  any  tutor, 
but  he  could  read  with  him  himself;  and  Miss 
(94) 


poor  iPctcr.  95 

Matty  told  me  much  of  the  awful  preparations 
in  the  way  of  dictionaries  and  lexicons  that 
were  made  in  her  father's  study  the  morning 
Peter  began. 

"  My  poor  mother  !"  said  she.  "  I  remem- 
ber how  she  used  to  stand  in  the  hall,  just 
near  enough  to  the  study-door  to  catch  the 
tone  of  my  father's  voice.  I  could  tell  in  a 
moment  if  all  was  going  right,  by  her  face. 
And  it  did  go  right  for  a  long  time." 

' '  What  went  wrong  at  last?' '  said  I.  '  'That 
tiresome  lyatin,  I  dare  say." 

"No!  it  was  not  the  Latin.  Peter  was  in 
high  favor  with  ray  father,  for  he  worked  up 
well  for  him.  But  he  seemed  to  think  that  the 
Cranford  people  might  be  joked  about,  and 
made  fun  of,  and  they  did  not  like  it;  nobody 
does.  He  was  always  hoaxing  them;  'hoax- 
ing '  is  not  a  pretty  word,  my  dear,  and  I  hope 
you  won't  tell  your  father  I  used  it,  for  I  should 
not  like  him  to  think  that  I  was  not  choice  in 
my  language,  after  living  with  such  a  woman  as 
Deborah.  And  be  sure  you  never  use  it  your- 
self. I  don't  know  how  it  slipped  out  of  my 
mouth,  except  it  was  that  I  was  thinking  of 
poor  Peter,  and  it  was  always  his  expression. 
But  he  was  a  very  gentlemanly  boy  in  many 
things.  He  was  like  dear  Captain  Brown  in 
always  being  ready  to  help  any  old  person  or 
a  child ;  still,  he  did  like  joking  and  making 
fun  ;  and  he  seemed  to  think  the  old  ladies  in 
Cranford  would  believe  anything.     There  were 


96  CranforJ). 

many  old  ladies  living  here  then  ;  we  are  prin- 
cipally ladies  now,  I  know  ;  but  we  are  not  so 
old  as  the  ladies  used  to  be  when  I  was  a  girl. 
I  could  laugh  to  think  of  some  of  Peter's  jokes. 
No  !  mj^  dear,  I  won't  tell  you  of  them,  because 
they  might  not  shock  5'ou  as  they  ought  to  do; 
and  they  were  ver>'  shocking.  He  even  took 
in  ray  father  once,  by  dressing  himself  up  as  a 
lady  that  was  passing  through  the  town  and 
wished  to  see  the  rector  of  Cranford,  'who  had 
published  that  admirable  Assize  Sermon.' 
Peter  said  he  was  awfully  frightened  himself 
when  he  saw  how  my  father  took  it  all  in,  and 
even  offered  to  copy  out  all  his  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte sermons  for  her — him,  I  mean — no,  her, 
for  Peter  was  a  lady  then.  He  told  me  he  was 
more  terrified  than  he  ever  was  before,  all  the 
time  my  father  was  speaking.  He  did  not 
think  my  father  would  have  believed  him  ;  and 
yet,  if  he  had  not,  it  would  have  been  a  sad 
thing  for  Peter.  As  it  was,  he  was  none  so 
glad  of  it,  for  my  father  kept  him  hard  at  work 
copying  out  all  those  twelve  Bonaparte  ser- 
mons for  the  lady — that  was  for  Peter  himself, 
you  know  ;  he  was  the  lady.  And  once,  when 
he  wanted  to  go  fishing,  Peter  said,  '  Confound 
the  woman  ! ' — ver>^  bad  language,  my  dear  ; 
but  Peter  was  not  always  so  guarded  as  he 
should  have  been ;  my  father  was  so  angry 
with  him  it  nearl)'-  frightened  me  out  of  my 
wits  ;  and  yet  I  could  hardly  keep  from  laugh- 
ing at  the  little  curtsies  Peter  kept  making, 


poor  peter.  97 

quite  slyly,  whenever  my  father  spoke  of  the 
lady's  excellent  taste  and  sound  discrimina- 
tion." 

"  Did  Miss  Jenkyns  know  of  these  tricks  ?  " 
said  I. 

•  ' '  Oh,  no !  Deborah  would  have  been  too  much 
shocked.  No  !  no  one  knew  but  me.  I  wish  I 
had  always  known  of  Peter's  plans;  but  some- 
times he  did  not  tell  me.  He  used  to  say  the 
old  ladies  in  the  town  wanted  something  to 
talk  about ;  but  I  don't  think  they  did.  They 
had  the  St  James's  Chronicle  three  times  a 
week,  just  as  we  have  now,  and  we  have  plenty 
to  say  ;  and  I  remember  the  clacking  noise 
there  always  was  when  some  of  the  ladies  got 
together.  But,  probably,  school-boys  talk  more 
than  ladies.  At  last  there  was  a  terrible  sad 
thing  happened."  Miss  Matty  got  up,  and 
went  to  the  door,  and  opened  it;  no  one  was 
there.  She  rang  the  bell  for  Martha;  and 
when  Martha  came,  her  mistress  told  her  to  go 
for  eggs  to  a  farm  at  the  other  end  of  the  town. 

"I  will  lock  the  door  after  you,  Martha. 
•You  are  not  afraid  to  go,  are  you?" 

"No,  ma'am,  not  at  all;  Jim  Heam  will  be 
only  too  proud  to  go  with  me." 

Miss  Matty  drew  herself  up,  and,  as  soon  as 
we  were  alone,  she  wished  that  Martha  had 
more  maidenly  reserve. 

"We'll  put  out  the  candle,  my  dear.     We 
can  talk  just  as  well  by  fire-light,  you  know. 
There!  well!  you  see,  Deborah  had  gone  from 
7 


98  CranfocO. 

home  for  a  fortnight  or  so;  it  was  a  very  still, 
quiet  day,  I  remember,  overhead,  and  the  lilacs 
were  all  in  flower,  so  I  suppose  it  was  spring. 
My  father  had  gone  out  to  see  some  sick  people 
in  the  parish;  I  recollect  seeing  him  leave  the 
house,  with  his  wig,  and  shovel-hat,  and  cane. 
What  possessed  our  poor  Peter  I  don't  know; 
he  had  the  sweetest  temper,  and  yet  he  always 
seemed  to  like  to  plague  Deborah.  She  never 
laughed  at  his  jokes,  and  thought  him  ungen- 
teel,  and  not  careful  enough  about  improving 
his  mind;  and  that  vexed  him. 

"Well!  he  went  to  her  room,  it  seems,  and 
dressed  himself  in  her  old  gown,  and  shawl, 
and  bonnet:  just  the  things  she  used  to  wear  in 
Cranford,  and  was  known  b}'  everywhere;  and 
he  made  the  pillow  into  a  little — you  are  sure 
you  locked  the  door,  my  dear,  for  I  should  not 
like  any  one  to  hear — into — into — a  little  baby, 
with  white  long  clothes.  It  was  only,  as  he 
told  me  afterward,  to  make  something  to  talk 
about  in  the  town;  he  never  thought  of  it  as 
affecting  Deborah.  And  he  went  and  walked 
up  and  down  in  the  Filbert  walk — just  half 
hidden  by  the  rails,  and  half  seen;  and  he 
cuddled  his  pillow,  just  like  a  baby;  and  talked 
to  it  all  the  nonsense  people  do.  O  dear!  and 
my  father  came  stepping  stately  up  the  street, 
as  he  always  did;  and  what  should  he  see  but 
a  little  black  crowd  of  people — I  dare  say  as 
many  as  twenty — all  peeping  through  his  gar- 
den rails.     So  he  thought,  at  first,  they  were 


B5oor  iPcter.  99 

only  looking  at  a  new  rhododendron  that  was 
in  full  bloom,  and  that  he  was  very  proud  of; 
and  he  walked  slower,  that  they  might  have 
more  time  to  admire.  And  he  wondered  if  he 
could  make  out  a  sermon  from  the  occasion, 
and  thought,  perhaps,  there  was  some  relation 
between  the  rhododendrons  and  the  lilies  of 
the  field.  My  poor  father!  When  he  came 
nearer,  he  began  to  wonder  that  they  did  not 
see  him;  but  their  heads  were  all  so  close  to- 
gether, peeping  and  peeping.  My  father  was 
among  them,  meaning,  he  said,  to  ask  them  to 
walk  into  the  garden  with  him,  and  admire 
the  beautiful  vegetable  production,  when, — 
oh,  my  dear!  I  tremble  to  think  of  it — he 
looked  through  the  rails  himself,  and  saw — I 
don't  know  what  he  thought  he  saw,  but  old 
Clare  told  me  his  face  went  quite  gray-white 
with  anger,  and  his  eyes  blazed  out  under  his 
frowning  black  brows;  and  he  spake  out — oh, 
so  terribly  ! — and  bade  them  all  stop  where 
they  were — not  one  of  them  to  go,  not  one  to 
stir  a  step;  and,  swift  as  light,  he  was  in  at  the 
garden  door,  and  down  the  Filbert  walk,  and 
seized  hold  of  poor  Peter,  and  tore  his  clothes 
off  his  back — bonnet,  shawl,  gown,  and  all — 
and  threw  the  pillow  among  the  people  over 
the  railings;  and  then  he  was  very,  very  angry 
indeed  ;  and  before  all  the  people  he  lifted  up 
his  cane,  and  flogged  Peter  ! 

"  My  dear  !  that  boy's  trick,  on  that  sunny 
day,  when  all  seemed  going  straight  and  well. 


icx>  CranforO. 

broke  my  mother's  heart,  and  changed  my 
father  for  life.  It  did,  indeed.  Old  Clare 
said  Peter  looked  as  white  as  my  father;  and 
stood  as  still  as  a  statue  to  be  flogged;  and  ray 
father  struck  hard!  When  my  father  stopped 
to  take  breath,  Peter  said:  '  Have  3'ou  done 
enough,  sir  ?'  quite  hoarsel)%  and  still  stand- 
ing quite  quiet.  I  don't  know  what  my 
father  said,  or  if  he  said  anything.  But  old 
Clare  said  Peter  turned  to  where  the  people 
outside  were,  and  made  them  a  low  bow,  as 
grand  and  as  grave  as  any  gentleman,  and 
then  walked  slowly  into  the  house.  I  was  in 
the  store-room,  helping  my  mother  to  make 
cowslip-wine.  I  cannot  abide  the  wine  now, 
nor  the  scent  of  the  flowers ;  they  turn  me 
sick  and  faint,  as  they  did  that  day,  when 
Peter  came  in,  looking  as  haughty  as  any 
man — indeed,  looking  like  a  man,  not  like  a 
boy.  'Mother!'  he  said,  'I  am  come  to  say 
God  bless  you  forever.'  I  saw  his  lips  quiver 
as  he  spoke;  and  I  think  he  durst  not  say  any- 
thing more  loving,  for  the  purpose  that  was  in 
his  heart.  She  looked  at  him  rather  fright- 
ened and  wondering,  and  asked  him  what  was 
to  do?  He  did  not  smile  or  speak,  but  put 
his  arms  round  her,  and  kissed  her  as  if  he 
did  not  know  how  to  leave  off;  and  before  she 
could  speak  again  he  was  gone.  We  talked 
it  over,  and  could  not  understand  it,  and  she 
bade  me  go  and  seek  my  father,  and  ask  what 
it  was  all  about.  I  found  him  walking  up 
and  down,  looking  very  highly  displeased. 


IPoor  ipctcr. 


"'Tell  your  mother  I  have  flogged  Peter, 
aud  that  he  richly  deserved  it.' 

' '  I  durst  not  ask  any  more  questions.  When 
I  told  my  mother,  she  sat  down,  quite  faint,  for 
a  minute.  I  remember,  a  few  days  after,  I  saw 
the  poor,  withered  cowslip-flowers  thrown  out 
to  the  leaf-heap,  to  decay  and  die  there.  Theie 
was  no  making"  of  cowslip-wine  that  j'ear  at  the 
rectory — nor,  indeed,  ever  after. 

"Presently  my  mother  went  to  my  father. 
I  know  I  thought  of  Queen  Esther  and  King 
Ahasuerus;  for  my  mother  was  very  pretty  and 
delicate-looking,  and  my  father  looked  as  ter- 
rible as  King  Ahasuerus.  Some  time  after, 
they  came  out  together,  and  then  my  mother 
told  me  what  had  happened,  and  that  she  was 
going  up  to  Peter's  room,  at  my  father's  desire 
— though  she  was  not  to  tell  Peter  this — to  talk 
the  matter  over  with  him.  But  no  Peter  was 
there.  We  looked  over  the  house;  no  Peter 
was  there !  Even  my  father,  who  had  not  liked 
to  join  in  the  search  at  first,  helped  us  before 
long.  The  rectory  was  a  very  old  house:  steps 
up  into  a  room,  steps  down  into  a  room,  all 
through.  At  first,  my  mother  went  calling 
low  and  soft — as  if  to  reassure  the  poor  boy — 
'Peter!  Peter,  dear!  it's  only  me;'  but,  by  and 
by,  as  the  servants  came  back  from  the  er- 
rands my  father  sent  them,  in  different  direc- 
tions, to  find  where  Peter  was — as  we  found  he 
was  not  in  the  garden,  nor  the  hayloft,  nor 
anj' where  about — my  mother's  cry  grew  louder 


I0  2  Crjmtort). 

and  wilder — 'Peter!  Peter,  my  darling!  where 
are  you  ?'  for  then  she  felt  and  understood  that 
that  long  kiss  meant  some  sad  kind  of  '  good- 
by.'  The  afternoon  went  on — my  mother 
never  resting,  but  seeking  again  and  again  in 
every  possible  place  that  had  been  looked  into 
twenty  times  before;  naj^  that  she  had  looked 
into  over  and  over  again  herself.  My  father  sat 
with  his  head  in  his  hands,  not  speaking,  ex- 
cept when  his  messengers  came  in,  bringing  no 
tidings;  then  he  lifted  up  his  face  so  strong  and 
sad,  and  told  them  to  go  again  in  some  new 
direction.  My  mother  kept  passing  from  room 
to  room,  in  and  out  of  the  house,  moving  noise- 
lessly, but  never  ceasing.  Neither  she  nor  my 
father  durst  leave  the  house,  which  was  the 
meeting  place  for  all  the  messengers.  At  last 
(and  it  was  nearly  dark),  my  father  rose  up. 
He  took  hold  of  my  mother's  arm,  as  she  came 
with  wild,  sad  face,  through  one  door,  and 
quickly  toward  another.  She  started  at  the 
touch  of  his  hand,  for  she  had  forgotten  all  in 
the  world  but  Peter. 

"'Molly!'  said  he,  'I  did  not  think  all  this 
would  happen.'  He  looked  into  her  face  for 
comfort — her  poor  face,  all  wild  and  white;  for 
neither  she  nor  my  father  had  dared  to  acknowl- 
edge— much  less  act  upon — the  terror  that  was 
in  their  hearts,  lest  Peter  should  have  made 
away  with  himself.  My  father  saw  no  con- 
scious look  in  his  wife's  hot,  dreary  eyes,  and 
he  missed  the  sympathy  that  she  had  always 


poor  ipcter.  103 

been  ready  to  give  him — strong  man  as  he  was; 
and  at  the  dumb  despair  in  her  face,  his  tears 
began  to  flow.  But  when  she  saw  this,  a  gen- 
tle sorrow  came  over  her  coimtenance,  and  she 
said,  '  Dearest  John  !  don't  cry;  come  with  me, 
and  we'll  find  him,'  almost  as  cheerfully  as  if 
she  knew  where  he  was.  And  she  took  my 
father's  great  hand  in  her  little  soft  one,  and 
led  him  along,  the  tears  dropping,  as  he  walked 
on  that  same  unceasing,  weary  walk,  from  room 
to  room,  through  house  and  garden. 

' '  Oh  !  how  I  wished  for  Deborah  !  I  had  no 
time  for  cr>'ing,  for  now  all  seemed  to  depend 
on  me.  I  wrote  for  Deborah  to  come  home. 
I  sent  a  message  privately  to  that  same  Mr. 
Holbrook's  house — poor  Mr.  Holbrook  ! — you 
know  who  I  mean.  I  don't  mean  I  sent  a  mes- 
sage to  him,  but  I  sent  one  that  I  could  trust, 
to  know  if  Peter  was  at  his  house.  For  at  one 
time  Mr.  Holbrook  was  an  occasional  visitor  at 
the  rectory, — you  know  he  was  Miss  Pole's 
cousin, — and  he  had  been  very  kind  to  Peter, 
and  taught  him  how  to  fish — he  was  very  kind 
to  everybody,  and  I  thought  Peter  might  have 
gone  off  there.  But  Mr.  Holbrook  was  from 
home,  and  Peter  had  never  been  seen.  It  was 
night  now;  but  the  doors  were  all  wide  open, 
and  my  father  and  mother  walked  on  and  on ; 
it  was  more  than  an  hour  since  he  had  joined 
her,  and  I  don't  believe  they  had  ever  spoken 
all  that  time.  I  was  getting  the  parlor  fire 
lighted,  and  one  of  the  servants  was  preparing 


I04 


CranforD. 


tea,  for  I  wanted  them  to  have  something  to 
eat  and  drink  and  warm  them,  when  old  Clare 
asked  to  speak  to  me. 

"  *  I  have  borrowed  the  nets  from  the  weir, 
Miss  Matty.  Shall  we  drag  the  ponds  to-night, 
or  wait  for  the  morning  ?  ' 

"I  remember  staring  in  his  face  to  gather 
his  meaning  ;  and  when  I  did,  I  laughed  out 
loud.  The  horror  of  that  new  thought — our 
bright,  darling  Peter,  cold,  and  stark,  and 
dead!  I  remember  the  ring  of  my  own  laugh 
now. 

"  The  next  day  Deborah  was  at  home  before 
I  was  myself  again.  She  would  not  have  been 
so  weak  to  give  way  as  I  had  done ;  but  my 
screams  (my  horrible  laughter  had  ended  in 
crying)  had  roused  my  sweet  dear  mother, 
whose  poor  wandering  wits  were  called  back 
and  collected,  as  soon  as  a  child  needed  her 
care.  She  and  Deborah  sat  by  ray  bedside  ;  I 
knew  by  the  looks  of  each  that  there  had  been 
no  news  of  Peter — no  awful,  ghastly  news, 
which  was  what  I  most  had  dreaded  in  my  dull 
state  between  sleeping  and  waking. 

' '  The  same  result  of  all  the  searching  had 
brought  something  of  the  same  relief  to  my 
mother,  to  whom  I  am  sure  the  thought  that  Pe- 
ter might  even  then  be  hanging  dead  in  some 
of  the  familiar  home-places,  had  caused  that 
never-ending  walk  of  yesterday.  Her  soft  eyes 
never  were  the  same  again  after  that;  they  had 
uiways  a  restless  craving  look,  as  if  seeking 


poor  peter.  105 

for  what  they  could  not  find.  Oh!  it  was  an 
awful  time;  coming  down  like  a  thunder-bolt 
on  the  still  sunny  day,  when  the  lilacs  were 
all  in  bloom. •-■ 

' '  Where  was  Mr.  Peter  ?' '  said  I. 

' '  He  had  made  his  way  to  Liverpool ;  and 
there  was  war  then  ;  and  some  of  the  king's 
ships  lay  ofi"  the  mouth  of  the  Mersey  ;  and 
they  were  only  too  glad  to  have  a  fine  likely 
boy  such  as  him  (five  foot  nine  he  was)  come 
to  offer  himself.  The  captain  wrote  to  my 
father,  and  Peter  wrote  to  my  mother.  Stay  ' 
those  letters  will  be  somewhere  here. ' ' 

We  lighted  the  candle,  and  found  the  cap- 
tain's letter,  and  Peter's,  too.  And  we  also 
found  a  little  simple  begging  letter  from  Mrs. 
Jenkyns  to  Peter,  addressed  to  him  at  the 
house  of  an  old  school-fellow,  whither  she  fan- 
cied he  might  have  gone.  They  had  returned 
it  unopened;  and  unopened  it  had  remained 
ever  since,  having  been  inadvertently  put  by 
among  the  other  letters  of  that  time.  This  is  it: 

"My  Dearest  Peter:  You  did  not  think 
we  should  be  so  sorry  as  we  are,  I  know,  or 
you  would  never  have  gone  away.  You  are 
too  good.  Your  father  sits  and  sighs  till  my 
heart  aches  to  hear  him.  He  cannot  hold  up 
his  head  for  grief;  and  yet  he  only  did  what 
he  thought  was  right.  Perhaps  he  has  been 
too  severe,  and  perhaps  I  have  not  been  kind 
enough;  but  God  knows  how  we  love  you,  my 


io6  CrantorO. 

dear  only  boy.  Don  looks  so  sorry  you  are 
gone.  Come  back,  and  make  us  happy,  who 
love  you  so  much.  I  know  you  will  come 
back." 

But  Peter  did  not  come  back.  That  spring 
day  was  the  last  time  he  ever  saw  his  mother's 
face.  The  writer  of  the  letter — the  last — the 
only  person  wiio  had  ever  seen  what  was 
written  in  it,  was  dead  long  ago;  and  I,  a 
stranger,  not  born  at  the  time  when  this  occur- 
rence took  place,  was  the  one  to  open  it. 

The  captain's  letter  summoned  the  father 
and  mother  to  Liverpool  instantly,  if  they 
wished  to  see  their  boy  ;  and  by  some  of  the 
wild  chances  of  life,  the  captain's  letter  had 
been  detained  somewhere,  somehow. 

Miss  Matty  went  on:  "And  it  was  race- 
time,  and  all  the  post-horses  at  Cranford  were 
gone  to  the  races;  but  my  father  and  mother 
set  off  in  our  own  gig — and  oh  !  my  dear,  they 
were  too  late — the  ship  was  gone !  And  now, 
read  Peter's  letter  to  my  mother!" 

It  was  full  of  love,  and  sorrow,  and  pride  in 
his  new  profession,  and  a  sore  sense  of  his  dis- 
grace in  the  eyes  of  the  people  at  Cranford; 
but  ending  with  a  passionate  entreaty  that  she 
would  come  and  see  him  before  he  left  the 
Mersey:  "Mother!  we  may  go  into  battle.  I 
hope  we  shall,  and  lick  those  French;  but  I 
must  see  you  again  before  that  time." 

"And  she  was  too  late,"  said  Miss  Matty; 
'too  late!" 


IPoor  peter.  107 

We  sat  in  silence,  pondering  on  the  full 
meaning  of  those  sad,  sad  words.  At  length  I 
asked  Miss  Matty  to  tell  me  how  her  mother 
bore  it. 

"Oh!"  she  said,  "she  was  patience  itself. 
She  had  never  been  strong,  and  this  weakened 
her  terribly.  My  father  nsed  to  sit  looking  at 
her,  far  more  sad  than  she  was.  He  seemed  as 
if  he  could  look  at  nothing  else  when  she  was 
by;  and  he  was  so  humble — so  very  gentle 
now.  He  would,  perhaps,  speak  in  his  old 
wa}' — laying  down  the  law,  as  it  were — and 
then,  in  a  minute  or  two,  he  would  come  round 
and  put  his  hand  on  our  shoulders,  and  ask  us, 
in  a  low  voice,  if  he  had  said  anything  to  hurt 
us.  I  did  not  wonder  at  his  speaking  .so  to 
Deborah,  for  .she  was  so  clever;  but  I  could  not 
bear  to  hear  him  talking  so  to  me. 

"  But,  5^ou  see,  he  .saw  what  we  did  not — that 
it  was  killing  my  mother.  Yes!  killing  her — 
(put  out  the  candle,  my  dear;  I  can  talk  better 
in  the  dark) — for  she  was  but  a  frail  woman, 
and  ill  fitted  to  stand  the  fright  and  shock  .she 
had  gone  through;  and  she  would  smile  at  him 
and  comfort  him,  not  in  words,  but  in  her 
looks  and  tones,  which  were  always  cheerful 
when  he  was  there.  And  she  would  speak  of 
how  she  thought  Peter  stood  a  good  chance  of 
being  admiral  very  soon — he  was  so  brave  and 
clever;  and  how  she  thought  of  seeing  him  in 
his  navy  uniform,  and  what  sort  of  hats  ad- 
mirals wore;  and  how  much  more  fit  he  was  to 


fo8  CranforD. 

be  a  sailor  than  a  clergj^man;  and  all  in  that 
way,  just  to  make  my  father  think  she  was 
quite  glad  of  what  came  of  that  unlucky  morn- 
ing's work,  and  the  flogging  which  was  always 
in  his  mind,  as  we  all  knew.  But  oh,  my 
dear!  the  bitter,  bitter  cr>'ing  she  had  when 
she  was  alone;  and  at  last,  as  she  grew  weaker, 
she  could  not  keep  her  tears  in.  when  Deborah 
or  me  was  by,  and  would  give  us  message  after 
message  for  Peter — (his  ship  had  gone  to  the 
Mediterranean,  or  somewhere  down  there,  and 
then  he  was  ordered  off  to  India,  and  there  was 
no  overland  route  then);  but  she  still  said  that 
no  one  knew  where  their  death  lay  in  wait,  and 
that  we  were  not  to  think  hers  was  near.  We 
did  not  think  it,  but  we  knew  it,  as  we  saw 
her  fading  away. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  it's  very  foolish  of  me,  I 
know,  when  in  all  likelihood  I  am  so  near  see- 
ing her  again. 

"And  only  think,  love!  the  very  day  after 
her  death — for  she  did  not  live  quite  a  twelve- 
month after  Peter  went  away — the  very  day 
after — came  a  parcel  for  her  from  India — from 
her  poor  boy.  It  was  a  large,  soft,  white  India 
shawl,  with  just  a  little  narrow  border  all 
round;  just  what  my  mother  would  have  liked. 

"  We  thought  it  might  rouse  my  father,  for 
he  had  sat  with  her  hand  in  his  all  night  long; 
so  Deborah  took  it  in  to  him,  and  Peter's  letter 
to  her,  and  all.  At  first  he  took  no  notice  ; 
and  we  tried  to  make  a  kind  of  light,  careless 


poor  peter.  109 

talk  about  the  shawl,  opening  it  out  and  ad- 
miring it.  Then,  suddenly,  he  got  up  and 
spoke:  'She  shall  be  buried  in  it,'  he  said; 
'  Peter  shall  have  that  comfort ;  and  she  would 
have  liked  it.' 

' '  Well !  perhaps  it  was  not  reasonable,  but 
what  could  we  do  or  say  ?  One  gives  people  in 
grief  their  own  way.  He  took  it  up  and  felt 
it ;  'It  is  just  such  a  shawl  as  she  wished  for 
when  she  was  married,  and  her  mother  did  not 
give  it  her.  I  did  not  know  of  it  till  after,  or 
she  should  have  had  it — she  should  ;  but  she 
shall  have  it  now.' 

' '  My  mother  looked  so  lovely  in  her  death ! 
She  was  always  pretty,  and  now  she  looked 
fair,  and  waxen,  and  j-oung — younger  than 
Deborah,  as  she  stood  trembling  and  shivering 
by  her.  We  decked  her  in  the  long,  soft 
folds  ;  she  lay,  smiling,  as  if  pleased;  and  peo- 
ple came — all  Cranford  came — to  beg  to  see 
her,  for  they  had  loved  her  dearly — as  well 
they  might ;  and  the  country-women  brought 
posies ;  old  Clare's  wife  brought  some  white 
violets,  and  begged  they  might  lie  on  her 
breast. 

"  Deborah  said  to  me  the  day  of  my  moth- 
er's funeral,  that  if  she  had  a  hundred  offers, 
she  never  would  marry  and  leave  my  father. 
It  was  not  y&ry  likely  she  would  have  so  many 
— I  don't  know  that  she  had  one;  but  it  was 
not  less  to  her  credit  to  say  so.  She  was  such 
a  daughter  to  my  father,  as  I  think  there  never 


I  lo  CranforO. 

was  before,  or  since.  His  eyes  failed  him,  and 
she  read  book  after  book,  and  wrote,  and  copied, 
and  was  alwa3's  at  his  service  in  any  parish 
business.  She  could  do  many  more  things  than 
my  poor  mother  could  ;  she  even  once  wrote  a 
letter  to  the  bishop  for  my  father.  But  he 
missed  my  mother  sorely ;  the  whole  parish 
noticed  it.  Not  that  he  was  less  active ;  I 
think  he  was  more  so,  and  more  patient  in 
helping  every  one.  I  did  all  I  could  to  set 
Deborah  at  liberty  to  be  with  him ;  for  I  knew 
I  was  good  for  little,  and  that  my  best  work 
in  the  world  was  to  do  odd  jobs  quietly,  and 
set  others  at  liberty.  But  my  father  was  a 
changed  man." 

"  Did  Mr.  Peter  ever  come  home?" 

"Yes,  once.  He  came  home  a  lieutenant; 
he  did  not  get  to  be  admiral.  And  he  and  my 
father  were  such  friends !  My  father  took  him 
into  every  house  in  the  parish,  he  was  so  proud 
of  him.  He  never  walked  out  without  Peter's 
arm  to  lean  upon.  Deborah  used  to  smile  (I 
don't  think  we  ever  laughed  again  after  my 
mother's  death),  and  say  she  was  quite  put  in 
a  corner.  Not  but  what  my  father  always 
wanted  her  when  there  was  letter  writing,  or 
reading  to  be  done,  or  anything  to  be  settled." 

"And  then?"  said  I,  after  a  pause. 

"Then  Peter  went  to  sea  again;  and,  by 
and  by,  my  father  died,  blessing  us  both,  and 
thanking  Deborah  for  all  she  had  been  to 
him;  and,  of  course,  our  circumstances  were 


ffi»ooc  ipcter.  m 

changed;  and,  instead  of  living  at  the  rectory, 
and  keeping  three  maids  and  a  man,  we  had 
to  come  to  this  small  house,  and  be  content 
with  a  servant-of-all-work  ;  but,  as  Deborah 
used  to  say,  we  have  always  lived  genteelly, 
even  if  circumstances  have  compelled  us  to 
simplicity.     Poor  Deborah !" 

"And  Mr.  Peter?"  asked  1. 

"Oh,  there  was  some  great  war  in  India — I 
forget  what  they  call  it — and  we  have  never 
heard  of  Peter  since  then.  I  believe  he  is  dead 
myself;  and  it  sometimes  fidgets  me  that  we 
have  never  put  on  mourning  for  him.  And 
then,  again,  when  I  sit  by  myself,  and  all  the 
house  is  still,  I  think  I  hear  his  step  coming 
up  the  street,  and  my  heart  begins  to  ilutter 
and  beat ;  but  the  sound  always  goes  past — 
and  Peter  never  comes. 

"That's  Martha  back?  No!  /'ll  go,  my 
dear :  I  can  always  find  my  way  in  the  dark, 
you  know.  And  a  blow  of  fresh  air  at  the 
door  will  do  my  head  good,  and  it's  rather  got 
a  trick  of  aching." 

So  she  pattered  off.  I  had  lighted  the  cau- 
dle, to  give  the  room  a  cheerful  appearance 
against  her  return. 

"  Was  it  Martha?"  asked  I. 

"  Yes.  And  I  am  rather  uncomfortable,  for 
I  heard  such  a  strange  noise,  just  as  1  was 
opening  the  door." 

"  When  ?"  I  asked,  for  her  eyes  were  round 
with  affright. 


112  GranforD. 

"In  the  street — just  outside — it  sounded 
like—" 

"Talking?"  I  put  in,  as  she  hesitated  a 
little. 

"No!  kissing—" 


CHAPTER  VII. 

VISITING. 

ONE  momiug,  as  Miss  Matty  and  I  sat  at 
our  work — it  was  before  twelve  o'clock, 
and  Miss  Matty  had  not  yet  changed  the  cap 
with  yellow  ribbons,  that  had  been  Miss  Jen- 
kyns'  best,  and  which  Miss  Matty  was  now 
wearing  out  in  private,  putting  on  the  one 
made  in  imitation  of  Mrs.  Jamieson's  at  all 
times  when  she  expected  to  be  seen — Martha 
came  up  and  asked  if  Miss  Betty  Barker  might 
speak  to  her  mistress.  Miss  Matty  assented, 
and  quickly  disappeared  to  change  the  yellow 
ribbons,  while  Miss  Barker  came  up  stairs;  but, 
as  she  had  forgotten  her  spectacles,  and  was 
rather  flurried  by  the  unusual  time  of  the  visit, 
I  was  not  surprised  to  see  her  return  with  one 
cap  on  the  top  of  the  other.  She  was  quite  un- 
conscious of  it  herself,  and  looked  at  us  with 
bland  satisfaction.  Nor  do  I  think  Miss  Barker 
perceived  it,  for,  putting  aside  the  little  cir- 
cumstance that  she  was  not  so  young  as  she 
had  been,  she  was  very  much  absorbed  in  her 
errand,  which  she  delivered  herself  of  with  an 
oppressive  modesty  that  found  vent  in  endless 
apologies. 

Miss  Betty  Barker  was  the  daughter  of  the 
8  (113) 


114  Cranfor?. 

old  clerk  at  Cranford,  who  had  oflSciated  in  Mr. 
Jenkyns*  time.  She  and  her  sister  had  had 
pretty  good  situations  as  lady's-maids,  and  had 
saved  up  money  enough  to  set  up  a  milliner's 
shop,  which  had  been  patronized  by  the  ladies 
in  the  neighborhood.  Lady  Arley,  for  in- 
stance, would  occasionally  give  Miss  Barkers 
the  pattern  of  an  old  cap  of  hers,  which  they 
immediately  copied  and  circulated  among  the 
iliU  of  Cranford.  I  say  the  elite,  for  Miss  Bark- 
ers had  caught  the  trick  of  the  place,  and 
piqued  themselves  upon  their  "aristocratic 
connection."  Thej'  would  not  sell  their  caps 
and  ribbons  to  any  one  without  a  pedigree. 
Many  a  farmer'  swife  or  daughter  turned  away 
huffed  from  Miss  Barkers'  select  millinery,  and 
went  rather  to  the  universal  shop,  where  the 
profits  of  brown  soap  and  moist  sugar  enabled 
the  proprietor  to  go  straight  to  (Paris,  he  said, 
until  he  found  his  customers  too  patriotic  and 
John  Bullish  to  wear  what  the  Mounseers  wore) 
London;  where,  as  he  often  told  his  custom- 
ers. Queen  Adelaide  had  appeared,  only  the 
very  week  before,  in  a  cap  exactly  like  the  one 
he  showed  them,  trimmed  with  j'ellow  and 
blue  ribbons,  and  had  been  complimented  by 
King  William  on  the  becoming  natvue  of  her 
head-dress. 

Miss  Barkers,  who  confined  themselves  to 
truth,  and  did  not  approve  of  miscellaneous 
customers,  throve  notwithstanding.  They 
were  self-den3ing,  good  people.     Many  a  time 


Wleittnfl.  115 

have  I  seen  the  eldest  of  them  (she  that  had 
been  maid  to  Mrs,  Jamieson)  carrying  out 
some  delicate  mess  to  a  poor  person.  The> 
only  aped  their  betters  in  having  ' '  nothing  to 
do"  with  the  class  immediately  below  theirs. 
And  when  Miss  Barker  died,  their  piofits  and 
income  were  found  to  be  such  that  Miss  Betty 
was  justified  in  shutting  up  shop  and  retiring 
from  business.  She  also  (as  I  think  I  have 
before  said)  set  up  her  cow;  a  mark  of  respect- 
ability in  Cranford,  almost  as  decided  as  set- 
ting up  a  gig  is  among  some  people.  She 
dressed  finer  than  any  lady  in  Cranford;  and 
we  did  not  wonder  at  it ;  for  it  was  understood 
that  she  was  wearing  out  all  the  bonnets  and 
caps  and  outrageous  ribbons,  which  had  once 
formed  her  stock  in  trade.  It  was  five  or  six 
years  since  they  had  given  up  shop;  so  in  any 
other  place  than  Cranford  her  dress  might  have 
been  considered  passee. 

And  now  Miss  Betty  Barker  had  called  to 
invite  Miss  Matty  to  tea  at  her  house  on  the 
following  Tuesday.  She  gave  me  also  an  im- 
promptu invitation,  as  I  happened  to  be  a  vis- 
itor; though  I  could  see  she  had  a  little  fear 
lest,  since  my  father  had  gone  to  live  in  Drum- 
ble,  he  might  have  engaged  in  that  "horrid 
cotton  trade,"  and  so  dragged  his  family  down 
out  of  "  aristocratic  society."  She  prefaced 
this  invitation  with  so  many  apologies,  that 
she  quite  excited  my  curiosity.  "Her  pre- 
sumption ' '  was  to  be  excused.     What  had  she 


.  1 6  GranforO. 

been  doing  ?  She  seemed  so  overpowered  by  it, 
I  could  only  think  that  she  had  been  writing 
to  Queen  Adelaide,  to  ask  for  a  receipt  for 
for  washing  lace;  but  the  act  which  she  so 
characterized  was  only  an  invitation  she  had 
carried  to  her  sister's  former  mistress,  Mrs. 
Jamieson.  "Her  former  occupation  consid- 
ered, could  Miss  Matty  excuse  the  libertj'?" 
Ah!  thought  I,  she  has  found  out  that  double 
:ap,  and  is  going  to  rectify  Miss  Matty's  head- 
dress. No!  it  was  simply  to  extend  her  invi- 
tation to  Miss  Matty  and  to  me.  Miss  Matty 
bowed  acceptance;  and  I  wondered  that,  in 
the  graceful  action,  she  did  not  feel  the  unusual 
weight  and  extraordinary  height  of  her  head- 
dress. But  I  do  not  think  she  did ;  for  she  re- 
covered her  balance,  and  went  on  talking  to 
Miss  Betty  in  a  kind,  condescending  manner, 
very  different  from  the  fidgety  way  she  would 
have  had,  if  she  had  suspected  how  singular 
her  appearance  was. 

"  Mrs.  Jamieson  is  coming,  I  think  you 
said?"  asked  Miss  Matty. 

"  Yes.  Mrs.  Jamieson  most  kindly  and  con- 
descendingly said  she  would  be  happy  to  come. 
One  little  stipulation  she  made,  that  she  should 
bring  Carlo.  I  told  her  that  if  I  had  a  weak- 
ness, it  was  for  dogs." 

"And  Miss  Pole?"  questioned  Miss  Matty, 
who  was  thinking  of  her  pool  at  Preference,  in 
which  Carlo  would  not  be  available  as  a  part- 
ner. 


\J)(s(tlng.  117 

"  I  am  going  to  ask  Miss  Pole.  Of  course,  I 
could  not  think  of  asking  her  until  I  had  asked 
you,  madam — the  rector's  daughter,  madam. 
Believe  me,  I  do  not  forp;et  the  situation  my 
father  held  under  yours.' 

"And  Mrs.  Forrester,  of  course?" 

"And  Mrs.  Forrester.  I  thought,  in  fact,  of 
going  to  her  before  I  went  to  Miss  Pole.  Al- 
though her  circumstances  are  changed,  madam, 
she  was  born  a  Tyrrell,  and  we  can  never 
forget  her  alliance  to  the  Bigges,  of  Bigelow 
Hall." 

Miss  Matty  cared  much  more  for  the  little 
circumstance  of  her  being  a  very  good  card 
player. 

"  Mrs.  Fitz-Adam — I  suppose — " 

"No,  madam.  I  must  draw  a  line  some- 
where. Mrs.  Jamieson  would  not,  I  think,  like 
to  meet  Mrs.  Fitz-Adam.  I  have  the  greatest 
respect  for  Mrs.  Fitz-Adam — but  I  cannot  think 
her  fit  society  for  such  ladies  as  Mrs.  Jamieson 
and  Miss  Matilda  Jenkyns." 

Miss  Betty  Barker  bowed  low  to  Miss  Matty, 
and  punsed  up  her  mouth.  She  looked  at  me 
with  sidelong  dignity,  as  much  as  to  say,  al- 
though a  retired  milliner,  she  was  no  democrat, 
and  understood  the  difference  of  ranks. 

"  May  I  beg  j^ou  to  come  as  near  half-past 
six,  to  my  little  dwelling,  as  possible.  Miss 
Matilda?  Mrs.  Jamieson  dines  at  five,  but 
has  kindly  promised  not  to  delay  her  visit  be- 
yond that  time — half-past  six."     And  with  a 


ii8  CranforO. 

swimming  curtsy  Miss  Betty  Barker  took  her 
leave. 

My  prophetic  soul  foretold  a  visit  that  after- 
noon from  Miss  Pole,  who  usually  came  to  call 
on  Miss  Matilda  after  any  event — or  indeed  iu 
sight  of  any  event — to  talk  it  over  with  her. 

"  Miss  Betty  told  me  it  was  to  be  a  choice 
and  select  few,"  said  Miss  Pole,  as  she  and 
Miss  Matty  compared  notes. 

"Yes,  so  she  said.  Not  even  Mrs.  Fitz- 
Adam." 

Now  Mrs.  Fitz-Adam  was  the  widowed  sis- 
ter of  the  Cranford  surgeon,  whom  I  have 
named  before.  Their  parents  were  respectable 
farmers,  content  with  their  station.  The  name 
of  the^e  good  people  was  Hoggins.  Mr.  Hog- 
gins was  the  Cranford  doctor  now ;  we  disliked 
the  name,  and  considered  it  coarse ;  but,  as 
Miss  Jenkyns  said,  if  he  changed  it  to  Piggins 
it  would  not  be  much  better.  We  had  hoped 
to  discover  a  relationship  between  him  and  that 
Marchioness  of  Exeter  whose  name  was  Molly 
Hoggins ;  but  the  man,  careless  of  his  own  in- 
terests, utterly  ignored  and  denied  any  such 
relationship ;  although,  as  dear  Miss  Jenkyns 
had  said,  he  had  a  sister  called  Marj',  and  the 
same  Christian  names  were  very  apt  to  run  iu 
families. 

Soon  after  Miss  Mary  Hoggins  married  Mr. 
Fitz-Adam,  she  disappeared  from  the  neighbor- 
hood for  many  years.  She  did  not  move  in  a 
sphere  in  Cranford  society  suflSciently  high  to 


IDisiting.  119 

make  any  of  us  care  to  know  what  Mr.  Fitz- 
Adam  was.  He  died  and  was  gathered  to  his 
fathers,  without  our  ever  having  thought  about 
him  at  all.  And  then  Mrs.  Fitz-Adam  reap- 
peared in  Cranford,  "as  bold  as  a  lion,"  Miss 
Pole  said,  a  well-to-do  widow,  dressed  in  rust- 
ling black  silk,  so  soon  after  her  husband's 
death,  that  poor  Miss  Jenkyns  was  justified  in 
the  remark  she  made,  that  "bombazine  would 
have  shown  a  deeper  sense  of  her  loss." 

I  remember  the  convocation  of  ladies,  who 
assembled  to  decide  whether  or  not  Mrs.  Fitz- 
Adam  should  be  called  upon  by  the  old  blue- 
blooded  inhabitants  of  Cranford.  She  had 
taken  a  large  rambling  house,  which  had  been 
usually  considered  to  confer  a  patent  of  gen- 
tility upon  its  tenant ;  because,  once  upon  a 
time,  seventy  or  eighty  years  before,  the  spin- 
ster daughter  of  an  earl  had  resided  in  it.  I 
am  not  sure  if  the  inhabiting  this  house  was 
not  also  believed  to  convey  some  unusual 
power  of  intellect ;  for  the  earl's  daughter, 
Lady  Jane,  had  a  sister,  Lady  Anne,  who  had 
married  a  general  oflficer,  in  the  time  of  the 
American  war;  and  this  general  officer  had 
written  one  or  two  comedies,  which  were  still 
acted  on  the  London  boards ;  and  which,  when 
we  saw  them  advertised,  made  us  all  draw  up, 
and  feel  that  Drury  Lane  was  paying  a  very 
pretty  compliment  to  Cranford.  Still,  it  was 
not  at  all  a  settled  thing  that  Mrs.  Fitz-Adam 
was  to  be  visited,  when  dear  Misj  Jenkyns 


120  CtanforD. 

died ;  and,  with  her,  something  of  the  clear 
knowledge  of  the  strict  code  of  gentility  went 
out  too.  As  Miss  Pole  observed,  '  'As  most  of 
the  ladies  of  good  family  in  Cranford  were 
elderly  spinsters,  or  widows  without  children, 
if  we  did  not  relax  a  little,  and  become  less 
exclusive,  by  and  by  we  should  have  no  so- 
ciety at  all." 

Mrs.  Forrester  continued  on  the  same  side. 

"She  had  always  understood  that  Fitz 
meant  something  aristocratic;  there  was  Fitz- 
Roy — she  thought  that  some  of  the  king's 
children  had  been  called  Fitz- Roy  ;  and  there 
was  Fitz-Clarence  now — they  were  the  chil- 
dren of  dear,  good  King  William  the  Fourth. 
Fitz- Adam — it  was  a  pretty  name;  and  she 
thought  it  very  probably  meant  *  Child  of 
Adam.'  No  one  who  had  not  some  good 
blood  in  their  veins  would  dare  to  be  called 
Fitz ;  there  was  a  deal  in  a  name — she  had 
had  a  cousin  who  spelt  his  name  with  two 
little  ^'s— ffoulkes ;  and  he  always  looked 
down  upon  capital  letters,  and  said  they  be- 
longed to  lately-invented  families.  She  had 
been  afraid  he  would  die  a  bachelor,  he  was  so 
very  choice.  When  he  met  with  a  Mrs.  ffar- 
ington,  at  a  watering-place,  he  took  to  her 
immediately;  and  a  very  pretty,  genteel  woman 
she  was— a  widow  with  a  very  good  fortune  ; 
and  *  my  cousin,'  Mr.  flfoulkes,  married  her; 
and  it  was  all  owing  to  her  two  little ^'s." 

Mrs.  Fitz-Adam  did  not  stand  a  chance  of 


Dlsltlng.  121 

meeting  with  a  Mr.  Fitz-anything  in  Cranford, 
so  that  could  not  have  been  her  motive  for  set- 
tling there.  Miss  Matty  thought  it  might 
have  been  the  hope  of  being  admitted  in  the 
society  of  the  place,  which  would  certainly  be 
a  ver>'  agreeable  rise  for  ci-devant  Miss  Hoggins; 
and  if  this  had  been  her  hope,  it  would  be 
cruel  to  disappoint  her. 

So  everybody  called  upon  Mrs.  Fitz-Adam — 
everybody  but  Mrs.  Jamieson,  who  used  to 
show  how  honorable  she  was  by  never  seeing 
Mrs.  Fitz-Adam,  when  they  met  at  the  Cran- 
ford parties.  There  would  be  only  eight  or 
ten  ladies  in  the  room,  and  Mrs.  Fitz-Adam 
was  the  largest  of  all,  and  she  invariably  used 
to  stand  up  when  Mrs.  Jamieson  came  in,  and 
curtsy  very  low  to  her  whenever  she  turned  in 
her  direction — so  low,  in  fact,  that  I  think  Mrs. 
Jamieson  must  have  looked  at  the  wall  above 
her,  for  she  never  moved  a  muscle  of  her  face, 
no  more  than  if  she  had  not  seen  her.  Still 
Mrs.  Fitz-Adam  persevered. 

The  spring  evenings  were  getting  bright  and 
long,  when  three  or  four  ladies  in  calashes  met 
at  Miss  Barker's  door.  Do  you  know  what  a 
calash  is  ?  It  is  a  covering  worn  over  caps,  not 
unlike  the  heads  fastened  on  old-fashioned 
gigs;  but  sometimes  it  is  not  quite  so  large. 
This  kind  of  head-gear  always  made  an  awful 
impression  on  the  children  in  Cranford  ;  and 
now  two  or  three  left  off  their  play  in  the  quiet, 
simny  little  .street,  and  gathered,  in  wondering 


122  CrantorJ). 

silence,  round  Miss  Pole,  Miss  Mattj^  and  my- 
self. We  were  silent,  too,  so  that  we  could 
hear  loud,  suppressed  whispers,  inside  Miss 
Barker's  house.  "  Wait,  Peggy  !  wait  till  I've 
run  up  stairs,  and  washed  my  hands.  When 
I  cough,  open  the  door  ;  I'll  not  be  a  minute." 
And,  true  enough,  it  was  not  a  minute  before 
we  heard  a  noise,  between  a  sneeze  and  a  crow ; 
on  which  the  door  flew  open.  Behind  it  stood 
a  round-eyed  maiden,  all  aghast  at  the  honor- 
able company  of  calashes,  who  marched  in 
without  a  word.  She  recovered  presence  of 
mind  enough  to  usher  us  into  a  small  room, 
which  had  been  the  shop,  but  was  now  con- 
verted into  a  temporary  dressing-room.  There 
we  unpinned  and  shook  ourselves,  and  ar- 
ranged our  features  before  the  glass  into  a 
sweet  and  gracious  company-face  ;  and  then, 
bowing  backward  with  "After  you,  ma'am," 
we  allowed  Mrs.  Forrester  to  take  precedence 
up  the  narrow  staircase  that  led  to  Miss 
Barker's  drawing-room.  There  she  sat,  as 
stately  and  composed  as  though  we  had  never 
heard  that  odd-sounding  cough,  from  which 
her  throat  must  have  been  even  then  sore  and 
rough.  Kind,  gentle,  shabbily-dressed  Mrs. 
Forrester  was  immediately  conducted  to  the 
second  place  of  honor — a  seat  arranged  some- 
thing like  Prince  Albert's,  near  the  queen's — 
good,  but  not  so  good.  The  place  of  pre- 
eminence was,  of  course,  reserved  for  the  Hon- 
orable   Mrs.   Jamieson,    who  presentlj-   came 


It)t9itlnfl.  123 

panting  up  the  stairs — Carlo  rushing  round 
her  on  her  progress,  as  if  he  meant  to  trip  her 
up. 

And  now,  Miss  Betty  Barker  was  a  proud 
and  happy  woman  !  She  stirred  the  fire,  and 
shut  the  door,  and  sat  as  near  to  it  as  she 
could,  quite  on  the  edge  of  her  chair.  When 
Peggy  came  in,  tottering  under  the  weight  of 
the  tea-tray,  I  noticed  that  Miss  Barker  was 
sadly  afraid  lest  Peggy  should  not  keep  her 
distance  sufficiently.  She  and  her  mistress 
were  on  very  familiar  terms  in  their  every-day 
intercourse,  and  Peggy  wanted  now  to  make 
several  little  confidences  to  her,  which  Miss 
Barker  was  on  thorns  to  hear  ;  but  which  she 
thought  it  her  duty,  as  a  lady,  to  repress.  So 
she  turned  away  from  all  Peggy's  asides  and 
signs ;  but  she  made  one  or  two  very  mal- 
apropos answers  to  what  was  said  ;  and  at  last, 
seized  with  a  bright  idea,  she  exclaimed, 
"  Poor  sweet  Carlo  !  I'm  forgetting  him.  Come 
down  stairs  with  me,  poor  ittie  doggie,  and  it 
shall  have  its  tea,  it  shall." 

In  a  few  minutes  she  returned,  bland  and 
benignant  as  before ;  but  I  thought  she  had  for- 
gotten to  give  the  "poor  ittie  doggie ' '  anything 
to  eat,  judging  by  the  avidity  with  which  he 
swallowed  down  chance  pieces  of  cake.  The 
tea  -tray  was  abundantly  loaded.  I  was  pleased 
to  see  it,  I  was  so  hungry  ;  but  I  was  afraid  the 
ladies  present  might  think  it  vulgarly  heaped 
up.     I  know  they  would  have  done  at  their 


124 


Grantor?. 


own  houses;  but  somehow  the  heaps  disap- 
peared here.  I  saw  Mrs.  Jamieson  eating 
seed-cake,  slowly  and  considerately,-  as  she  did 
everything  ;  and  I  was  rather  surprised,  for  I 
knew  she  had  told  us,  on  the  occasion  of  her 
last  party,  that  she  never  had  it  in  her  house, 
it  reminded  her  so  much  of  scented  soap.  She 
always  gave  us  Savoy  biscuits.  However, 
Mrs-  Jamieson  was  kindly  indulgent  to  Miss 
Barker's  want  of  knowledge  of  the  customs  of 
high  life  ;  and,  to  spare  her  feelings,  ate  three 
large  pieces  of  seed-cake,  with  a  placid,  rumi- 
nating expression  of  countenance,  not  unlike 
a  cow's. 

After  tea  there  was  some  little  demur  and 
difficulty.  We  were  six  in  number ;  four  could 
play  at  Preference,  and  for  the  other  two  there 
was  Cribbage.  But  all,  except  myself  (I  was 
rather  afraid  of  the  Cranford  ladies  at  cards, 
for  it  was  the  most  earnest  and  serious  business 
they  ever  engaged  in),  were  anxious  to  be  of 
the  "pool."  Even  Miss  Barker,  while  declar- 
ing she  did  not  know  Spadille  from  Manille, 
was  evidently  hankering  to  take  a  hand.  The 
dilemma  was  soon  put  an  end  to  by  a  singular 
kind  of  noise.  If  a  baron's  daughter-in-law 
could  ever  be  supposed  to  snoie,  I  should  have 
said  Mrs.  Jamieson  did  so  then ;  for,  overcome 
by  the  heat  of  the  room,  and  inclined  to  doze 
by  nature,  the  temptation  of  that  very  com- 
fortable arm-chair  had  been  too  much  for  her, 
and    Mrs.   Jamieson   was   nodding.     Once  or 


Disltlng.  125 

twice  she  opened  her  eyes  with  an  effort,  and 
calmly  but  unconsciously  smiled  upon  us  ; 
but,  by-and-by,  even  her  benevolence  was  not 
equal  to  this  exertion,  and  she  was  sound 
asleep. 

"It  is  very  gratifying  to  me,"  whispered 
Miss  Barker,  at  the  card-table,  to  her  three 
opponents,  whom,  notwithstanding  her  igno- 
rance of  the  game,  she  was  "basting"  most 
unmercifully,  "very  gratifying  indeed,  to  see 
how  completely  Mrs.  Jamieson  feels  at  home 
in  my  poor  little  dwelling ;  she  could  not  have 
paid  me  a  greater  compliment." 

Miss  Barker  provided  me  with  some  litera- 
ture, in  the  shape  of  three  or  four  handsomely- 
bound  fashion-books  ten  or  twelve  years  old, 
observing,  as  she  put  a  little  table  and  a  candle 
for  my  especial  benefit,  that  she  knew  young 
people  liked  to  look  at  pictures.  Carlo  lay 
and  snorted,  and  started,  at  his  mistress'  feet. 
He,  too,  was  quite  at  home. 

The  card-table  was  an  animated  scene  to 
watch;  four  ladies'  heads,  with  niddle-nod- 
dling caps,  all  nearly  meeting  over  the  middle 
of  the  table,  in  their  eagerness  to  whisper 
quick  enough  and  loud  enough;  and  every 
now  and  then  came  Miss  Barker's  "Hush, 
ladies!  if  you  please,  hush!  Mrs.  Jamieson  is 
asleep," 

It  was  very  difiicult  to  steer  clear  between 
Mrs.  Forrester's  deafness  and  Mrs.  Jamieson's 
sleepiness.     But   Miss   Barker  managed    her 


126  Crantord. 

arduous  task  well.  She  repeated  the  whisper 
to  Mrs.  Forrester,  distorting  her  face  consider- 
ably, in  order  to  show,  by  the  motions  of  her 
lips,  what  was  said,  and  then  she  smiled  kindly 
all  around  at  us,  and  murmured  to  herself, 
"Very  gratifying,  indeed;  I  wish  my  poor 
sister  had  been  alive  to  see  this  day." 

Presently  the  door  was  thrown  wide  open; 
Carlo  started  to  his  feet,  with  a  loud  snapping 
bark,  and  Mrs.  Jamieson  awoke;  or,  perhaps, 
she  had  not  been  asleep — as  she  said  almost 
directly,  the  room  had  been  so  light  she  had 
been  glad  to  keep  her  eyes  shut,  but  had  been 
listening  with  great  interest  to  all  our  amusing 
and  agreeable  conversation.  Peggy  came  in 
once  more,  red  with  importance.  Another 
tray!  "Oh,  gentility!"  thought  I,  "can  you 
endure  this  last  shock!"  For  Miss  Barker  had 
ordered  (nay,  I  doubt  not,  prepared,  although 
she  did  say,  "Why!  Peggy,  what  have  you 
brought  us?"  and  looking  pleasantly  surprised 
at  the  unexpected  pleasure)  all  sorts  of  good 
things  for  supper — scalloped  oysters,  potted 
lobsters,  jelly,  a  dish  called  "little  Cupids" 
(which  was  in  great  favor  with  the  Cranford 
ladies;  although  too  expensive  to  be  given, 
except  on  solemn  and  state  occasions — maca- 
roons sopped  in  brandy,  I  should  have  called 
it,  if  I  had  not  known  its  more  refined  and 
classical  name).  In  short,  we  were  evidently 
to  be  feasted  with  all  that  was  sweetest  and 
best;  and  we  thought  it  best  to  submit  grace- 


Wfsftlng.  127 

fully,  even  at  the  cost  of  our  gentility — which 
never  ate  suppers  in  general,  but  which,  like 
most  non -supper-eaters,  was  particularly  hun- 
gry on  all  special  occasions. 

Miss  Barker,  in  her  former  sphere,  had,  I  dare 
say,  been  made  acquainted  with  the  beverage 
they  call  cherry-brandy.  We  none  of  us  had 
ever  seen  such  a  thing,  and  rather  shrunk  back 
when  she  proffered  it  us — "just  a  little,  leetle 
glass,  ladies;  after  the  oysters  and  lobsters, 
you  know.  Shell-fish  are  sometimes  thought 
not  very  wholesome. ' '  We  all  shook  our  heads 
like  female  mandarins;  but  at  last  Mrs.  Jamie- 
son  suffered  herself  to  be  persuaded,  and  we 
followed  her  lead.  It  was  not  exactly  unpalat- 
able, though  so  hot  and  so  strong  that  we 
thought  ourselves  bound  to  give  evidence  that 
we  were  not  accustomed  to  such  things,  by 
coughing  terribly — almost  as  strangely  as  Miss 
Barker  had  done,  before  we  were  admitted  by 
Peggy. 

"  It's  very  strong,"  said  Miss  Pole,  as  she 
put  down  her  empty  glass;  "I  do  believe 
there's  spirit  in  it." 

"  Only  a  little  drop— just  necessary  to  make 
it  keep!"  said  Miss  Barker.  "You  know  we 
put  brandy- paper  over  preserves  to  make  them 
keep.  I  often  feel  tipsy  myself  from  eating 
damson  tart." 

I  question  whether  damson  tart  would  have 
opened  Mrs.  Jamieson's  heart  as  the  cherry- 
brandy  did ;  but  she  told  us  of  a  coming  event, 


128  CrantorD. 

respecting  which  she  had  been  quite  silent  till 
that  moment. 

"My  sister-in-law,  Lady  Glenmire,  is  com- 
ing to  stay  with  me." 

There  was  a  chorus  of  ' '  Indeed ! ' '  and  then 
a  pause.  Each  one  rapidly  reviewed  her  ward- 
robe, as  to  its  fitness  to  appear  in  the  presence 
of  a  baron's  widow ;  for,  of  course,  a  series  of 
small  festivals  were  always  held  in  Cranford  on 
the  arrival  of  a  visitor  at  any  of  our  friends' 
houses.  We  felt  very  pleasantly  excited  on 
the  present  occasion. 

Not  long  after  this  the  maids  and  the'  lanterns 
were  announced.  Mrs.  Jamieson  had  the  se- 
dan chair,  which  had  squeezed  itself  into  Miss 
Barker's  narrow  lobby  with  some  difl&culty ; 
and  most  literally  stopped  the  way.  It  re- 
quired some  skillful  maneuvering  on  the  part 
of  the  old  chairmen  (shoemakers  by  day  ;  but, 
when  summoned  to  carry  the  sedan,  dressed 
up  in  a  strange  old  livery — long  great-coats, 
with  small  capes,  coeval  with  the  sedan,  and 
similar  to  the  dress  of  the  class  in  Hogarth's 
pictures)  to  edge,  and  back,  and  try  at  it  again, 
and  finally  to  succeed  in  carrying  their  burden 
out  of  Miss  Barker's  front  door.  Then  we 
heard  their  quick  pitapat  along  the  quiet  little 
street,  as  we  put  on  our  calashes,  and  pinned 
up  our  gowns  ;  Miss  Barker  hovering  about  us 
with  offers  of  help  ;  which,  if  she  had  not  re- 
membered her  former  occupation,  and  wished 
us  to  forget  it,  would  have  been  much  more 
pressing. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
"your  i^adyship." 

EARLY  the  next  morning — directly  after 
twelve — Miss  Pole  made  her  appearance 
at  Miss  Matty's.  Some  very  trifling  piece  of 
business  was  alleged  as  a  reason  for  the  call ; 
but  there  was  evidently  something  behind. 
At  last  out  it  came. 

"By-the-way,  you'll  think  I'm  strangely 
ignorant;  but,  do  you  really  know,  I  am  puz- 
zled how  we  ought  to  address  Lady  Glenmire. 
Do  you  say,  '  your  ladyship,'  where  you  would 
say,  '  you  '  to  a  common  person  ?  I  have  been 
puzzling  all  morning;  and  are  we  to  say  '  my 
lady,'  instead  of  'ma'am?'  Now,  you  knew 
Lady  Arley — will  you  tell  me  the  correct  way 
of  speaking  to  the  Peerage?" 

Poor  Miss  Matty!  she  took  off  her  spectacles 
and  she  put  them  on  again — but  how  Lady 
Arley  was  addressed  she  could  not  remember. 

"  It  is  so  long  ago!"  she  said.  "  Dear!  dear! 
how  stupid  I  am!  I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  her 
more  than  twice.  I  know  we  used  to  call  Sir 
Pf:ter,  '  Sir  Peter,'  but  he  came  much  oftener  to 
see  us  than  Lady  Arley  did.  Deborah  would 
have  known  in  a  minute.  *  My  lady — your 
ladyship.'  It  sounds  very  strano^e  and  as  if  it 
9  (129) 


I30 


CrantorD. 


was  not  natural.  I  ne-s'er  thought  of  it  before ; 
but,  now  you  have  named  it,  I  am  all  in  a 
puzzle." 

It  was  very  certain  Miss  Pole  would  obtain 
no  wise  decision  from  Miss  Matty,  who  got 
more  bewildered  every  moment,  and  more  per- 
plexed as  to  etiquettes  of  address. 

"Well,  I  really  think,"  said  Miss  Pole,  "1 
had  better  just  go  and  tell  Mrs.  Forrester 
about  our  little  difficulty.  One  sometimes 
grows  nervous ;  and  3'et  one  would  not  have 
Lady  Glenmire  think  we  were  quite  ignorant 
of  the  etiquettes  of  high  life  in  Cranford." 

"  And  will  you  just  step  in  here,  dear  Miss 
Pole,  as  you  come  back,  please  ;  and  tell  me 
what  you  decide  upon  ?  Whatever  you  and 
Mrs.  Forrester  fix  upon,  will  be  quite  right, 
I'm  sure.  'Lady  Arley,'  'Sir  Peter,'"  said 
Miss  Matty  to  herself,  tr>'ing  to  recall  the  old 
forms  of  words. 

"  Who  is  Lady  Glenmire?  "  asked  I. 

"Oh!  she's  the  widow  of  Mr.  Jamieson — 
that's  Mrs.  Jamiesou's  late  husband,  j-ou  know 
— widow  of  his  eldest  brother.  Mrs.  Jamieson 
was  a  Miss  Walker,  daughter  of  Governor 
Walker.  'Your  ladyship. '  My  dear,  if  they  fix 
on  that  way  of  speaking,  you  must  let  me 
practice  a  little  on  you  first,  for  I  shall  feel  so 
foolish  and  hot,  saying  it  the  first  time  to  Lady 
Glenmire." 

It  was  really  a  relief  to  Miss  Matty  when 
Mrs.  Jamiison  came  on  a  very  unpolite  errand. 


♦♦lour  XaO^sbfp."  131 

I  notice  that  apathetic  people  have  more  quiet 
impertinence  than  any  others;  and  Mrs,  Jamie- 
son  came  now  to  insinuate  pretty  plainly,  that 
she  did  not  particularly  wish  that  the  Cranford 
ladies  should  call  upon  her  sister-in-law.  I  can 
hardly  say  how  she  made  this  clear;  for  I  grew 
very  indignant  and  warm,  while  with  slow  de- 
liberation she  was  explaining  her  wishes  to 
Miss  Matty,  who,  a  true  lady  herself,  could 
hardly  understand  the  feeling  which  made 
Mrs.  Jamieson  wish  to  appear  to  her  noble 
sister-in-law  as  if  she  only  visited  "county" 
families.  Miss  Matty  remained  puzzled  and 
perplexed  long  after  I  had  found  out  the  object 
of  Mrs.  Jamieson's  visit. 

When  she  did  understand  the  drift  of  the 
honorable  ladj^'s  call,  it  was  pretty  to  see  with 
what  quiet  dignity  she  received  the  intimation 
thus  uncourteously  given.  She  was  not  in 
the  least  hurt — she  was  of  too  gentle  a  spirit 
for  that;  nor  was  she  exactly  conscious  of  dis- 
approving of  Mrs.  Jamieson's  conduct;  but 
there  was  something  of  this  feeling  in  her 
mind,  I  am  sure,  which  made  her  pass  from 
the  subject  to  others,  in  a  less  flurried  and 
more  composed  manner  than  usual.  Mrs. 
Jamieson  was,  indeed,  the  more  flurried  of  the 
two,  and  I  could  see  she  was  glad  to  take  her 
leave. 

A  little  while  afterward,  Miss  Pole  returned, 
red  and  indignant.  "Well!  to  be  sure! 
You've  had  Mrs.  Jamieson  here,      find  from 


132 


CranforO. 


Martha;  and  we  are  not  to  call  on  Lady  Glen- 
mire.  Yes  !  I  met  Mrs.  Jamieson,  half  way- 
be  tween  here  and  Mrs.  Forrester's,  and  she 
told  me;  she  took  me  so  by  surprise,  I  had 
nothing  to  say.  I  wish  I  had  thought  of 
something  very  sharp  and  sarcastic;  I  dare  say 
I  shall  to-night.  And  Lady  Glenraire  is  but 
the  widow  of  a  Scotch  baron,  after  all!  I  went 
on  to  look  at  Mrs.  Forrester's  Peerage,  to  see 
who  this  lady  was,  that  is  to  be  kept  under  a 
glass  case  :  widow  of  a  Scotch  peer — never  sat 
in  the  House  of  Lords — and  as  poor  as  Job,  I 
dare  say;  and  she — fifth  daughter  of  some 
Campbell  or  other.  You  are  the  daughter  of 
a  rector,  at  any  rate,  and  related  to  the  Arleys; 
and  Sir  Peter  might  have  been  Viscount 
Arley,  every  one  says." 

Miss  Matty  tried  to  soothe  Miss  Pole,  but  in 
vain.  That  lady,  usually  so  kind  and  good- 
humored,  was  now  in  a  full  flow  of  auger. 

"And  I  went  and  ordered  a  cap  this  morn- 
ing, to  be  quite  ready,"  said  she,  at  last  letting 
out  the  secret  which  gave  sting  to  Mrs.  Jamie- 
son's  intimation.  "Mrs.  Jamieson  shall  see  if 
it's  so  easy  to  get  me  to  make  fourth  at  a  pool, 
when  she  has  none  of  her  fine  Scotch  relations 
with  her!" 

In  coming  out  of  church,  the  first  Sunday  on 
which  Lady  Glenmire  appeared  in  Cranford, 
we  sedulously  talked  together,  and  turned  our 
backs  on  Mrs.  Jamieson  and  her  guest.  If  we 
might  not  call  on  her,  we  would  not  even  look 


"Ijour  ILaO^sbfp."  133 

at  her,  though  we  were  dying  with  curiosity  to 
know  what  she  was  hke.  We  had  the  comfort 
of  questioning  Martha  in  the  afternoon.  Mar- 
tha did  not  belong  to  a  sphere  of  society  whose 
observation  could  be  an  implied  compliment  to 
Lady  Glenmire,  and  Martha  had  made  good 
use  of  her  eyes. 

"Well,  ma'am!  is  it  the  little  lady  with  Mrs. 
Jamiesou,  you  mean  ?  I  thought  you  would 
like  more  to  know  how  young  Mrs.  Smith  was 
dressed,  her  being  a  bride."  (Mrs.  Smith  was 
the  butcher's  wife.) 

Miss  Pole  said,  "  Good  gracious  me!  as  if  we 
cared  about  a  Mrs.  Smith  ; ' '  but  was  silent  as 
Martha  resumed  her  speech. 

"The  little  lady  in  Mrs.  Jamieson's  pew  had 
on,  ma'am,  rather  an  old  black  silk,  and  a 
shepherd's  plaid  cloak,  ma'am,  and  very  bright 
black  eyes  she  had,  ma'am,  and  a  pleasant, 
sharp  face;  not  over  young,  ma'am,  but  yet,  I 
should  guess,  younger  than  Mrs.  Jamieson  her- 
self. She  looked  up  and  down  the  church,  like 
a  bird,  and  nipped  up  her  petticoats,  when  she 
came  out,  as  quick  and  sharp  as  ever  I  see. 
I'll  tell  you  what,  ma'am,  she's  more  like  Mrs. 
Deacon,  at  the  'Coach  and  Horses,'  uor  any 
one." 

"Hush,  Martha!  "  said  Miss  Matty,  "  that's 
not  respectful." 

"Isn't  it,  ma'am?  I  beg  pardon,  I'm  sure; 
but  Jim  Hearn  said  so  as  well.  He  said  she 
was  just  such  a  sharp,  stirring  sort  of  a  body — " 


134 


CranforD. 


"Lady,"  said  Miss  Pole. 

"Lady — as  Mrs.  Deacon." 

Another  Snnday  passed  away,  and  we  still 
averted  our  eyes  from  Mrs.  Jamiesou  and  her 
guest,  and  made  remarks  to  ourselves  that  we 
thought  were  very  severe — almost  too  much 
so.  Miss  Matty  was  evidently  uneasy  at  our 
sarcastic  manner  of  speaking. 

Perhaps  bj'  this  time  Lad}^  Glenraire  had 
found  out  that  Mrs.  Jamieson's  was  not  the 
gayest,  liveliest  house  in  the  world;  perhaps 
Mrs.  Jamieson'had  found  out  that  most  of  the 
county  families  were  in  London,  and  that  those 
who  remained  in  the  country  were  not  so  alive 
as  they  might  hav-e  been  to  the  circumstance 
of  Lady  Glenmire  being  in  their  neighbor- 
hood. Great  events  spring  out  of  small  causes; 
so  I  will  not  pretend  to  say  what  induced  Mrs. 
Jamieson  to  alter  her  determination  of  exclud- 
ing the  Cranford  ladies,  and  send  notes  of  in- 
vitation all  round  for  a  small  party,  on  the 
following  Tuesday.  Mr.  MuUiner  himself 
brought  them  round.  He  would  always  ignore 
the  fact  of  there  being  a  back  door  to  any 
house,  and  gave  a  louder  rat-tat  than  his  mis- 
tress, Mrs.  Jamieson.  He  had  three  little 
notes,  which  he  carried  in  a  large  basket,  in 
order  to  impress  his  mistress  with  an  idea  of 
their  great  weight,  though  they  might  easily 
have  gone  into  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

Miss  Matty  and  I  quietly  decided  we  would 
have  a  previous  engagement  at  home — it  was 


'13our  XaCigsbip."  135 


the  evening  on  which  Miss  Matty  usually 
made  candle-lighters  of  a.l  the  notes  and  let- 
ters of  the  week;  for  on  Mondays  her  accounts 
were  always  made  straight — not  a  penny 
owing  from  the  week  before;  so,  by  a  natural 
arrangement,  making  candle-lighters  fell  upon 
a  Tuesday  evening,  and  gave  us  a  legitimate 
excuse  for  declining  Mrs.  Jamieson's  invita- 
tion. But  before  our  answer  was  written,  in 
came  Miss  Pole,  with  an  open  note  in  her 
hand. 

"So!"  she  said.  "  Ah!  I  see  you  have  got 
your  note,  too.  Better  late  than  never.  I 
could  have  told  my  Lady  Glenmire  she  would 
be  glad  enough  of  our  society  before  a  fortnight 
was  over. ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Matty,  "we're  asked  for 
Tuesday  evening.  And  perhaps  you  would 
just  kindly  bring  your  work  across  and  drink 
tea  with  us  that  night.  It  is  my  usual  regular 
time  for  looking  over  the  last  week's  bills,  and 
notes,  and  letters,  and  making  candle-lighters 
of  them;  but  that  does  not  seem  quite  reason, 
enough  for  saying  I  have  a  previous  engage- 
ment at  home,  though  I  meant  to  make  it  do. 
Now,  if  you  would  come,  my  conscience  would 
be  quite  at  ease,  and  luckily  the  note  is  not 
written  yet." 

I  saw  Miss  Pole's  countenance  change  while 
Miss  Matty  was  speaking. 

"  Don't  you  mean  to  go,  then  ?"  asked  she. 

"  Oh,  no!"  said  Miss  Matty,  quietly.  "You 
don't  either,  I  suppose  ?" 


136  CranforD. 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Miss  Pole.  "Yes, 
I  think  I  do,"  said  she,  rather  briskly;  and  on 
seeing  Miss  Matty  look  surprised,  she  added, 
"You  see  one  would  not  like  Mrs.  Jamieson  to 
think  that  anything  she  could  do,  or  say,  was 
of  consequence  enough  to  give  offence;  it  would 
be  a  kind  of  letting  down  of  ourselves,  that  I, 
for  one,  should  not  like.  It  would  be  too  flat- 
tering to  Mrs.  Jamieson,  if  we  allowed  her  to 
suppose  that  what  she  had  said  affected  us  a 
week,  nay,  ten  days  afterward." 

"Well,  I  suppose  it  is  wrong  to  be  hurt 
and  annoyed  so  long  about  anything;  and, 
perhaps,  after  all,  she  did  not  mean  to  vex 
us.  But,  I  must  say,  I  could  not  have  brought 
myself  to  say  the  things  Mrs.  Jamieson  did 
about  our  not  calling.  I  really  don't  think  I 
shall  go." 

"Oh,  come!  Hiss  Matty,  you  must  go;  you 
know  our  friend  Mrs.  Jamieson  is  much  more 
phlegmatic  than  most  people,  and  does  not 
enter  into  the  little  delicacies  of  feeling  which 
you  possess  in  so  remarkable  a  degree." 

"I  thought  you  possessed  them,  too,  that 
day  Mrs.  Jamieson  called  to  tell  us  not  to  go," 
said  Miss  Matty,  innocently. 

But  Miss  Pole,  in  addition  to  her  delicacies 
of  feeling,  possessed  a  very  smart  cap,  which 
she  was  anxious  to  show  to  an  admiring  world; 
and  so  she  seemed  to  forget  all  her  angry  words 
uttered  not  a  fortnight  before,  and  to  be  ready 
to  act  on  what  she  called  the  great  Christian 


'♦©our  XaOi5£'bfp."  137 

principle  of  "Forgive  and  forget;"  and  she 
lectured  dear  Miss  Matt)^  ^o  long  on  this  head 
that  she  absolutely  ended  by  assuring  her  it 
was  her  duty,  as  a  deceased  rector's  daughter, 
to  buy  a  new  cap,  and  go  to  the  party  at  Mrs. 
Jamieson's.  So  "we  were  most  happy  to  ac- 
cept, ' '  instead  of  ' '  regretting  that  we  were 
obliged  to  decline." 

The  expenditure  in  dress  in  Cranford  was 
principally  in  that  one  article  referred  to.  If 
the  heads  were  buried  in  smart  new  caps,  the 
ladies  were  like  ostriches,  and  cared  not  what 
became  of  their  bodies.  Old  gowns,  white  and 
venerable  collars,  an)^  number  of  brooches,  up 
and  down,  and  everywhere  (some  with  dogs' 
eyes  painted  in  them;  some  that  were  like  small 
picture  frames,  with  mausoleums  and  weeping- 
willows  neatly  executed  in  hair  inside ;  some, 
again,  with  miniatures  of  ladies  and  gentlemen 
sweetly  vsmiling  out  of  a  nest  of  stiff  muslin) — 
old  brooches  for  a  permanent  ornament,  and 
new  caps  to  suit  the  fashion  of  the  day ;  the 
ladies  of  Cranford  always  dressed  with  chaste 
elegance  and  propriet)"",  as  Miss  Barker  once 
prettily  expressed  it. 

And  with  three  new  caps,  and  a  greater  array 
of  brooches  than  had  ever  been  seen  together  at 
one  time  since  Cranford  was  a  town,  did  Mrs. 
Forrester,  and  Miss  Matty,  and  Miss  Pole  ap- 
pear on  that  memorable  Tuesday  evening.  I 
counted  seven  brooches  myself  on  Miss  Pole's 
dress.     Two  were  fixed  negligently  in  her  cap 


138  CrantorD. 

(one  was  a  butterfly  made  of  Scotch  pebbles, 
which  a  vivid  imaginatiou  might  believe  to  be 
the  real  insect);  one  fastened  her  net  necker- 
chief; one  her  collar;  one  ornamented  the 
front  of  her  gown,  midway  between  her  throat 
and  waist;  and  another  adorned  the  point  of 
her  stomacher.  Where  the  seventh  was  I  have 
forgotten,  but  it  was  somewhere  about  her,  I 
am  sure. 

But  I  am  getting  on  too  fast,  in  describing 
the  dresses  of  the  company.  I  should  first  re- 
late the  gathering,  on  the  way  to  Mrs.  Jamie- 
son's.  That  lady  lived  in  a  large  house  jusl 
outside  the  town.  A  road,  which  had  known 
what  it  was  to  be  a  street,  ran  right  before  the 
house,  which  opened  out  upon  it,  without  any 
intervening  garden  or  court.  Whatever  the 
sun  was  about,  he  never  shone  on  the  front  of 
that  house.  To  be  sure,  the  living-rooms 
were  at  the  back,  looking  on  to  a  pleasant 
garden;  the  front  windows  only  belonged  to 
kitchens,  and  housekeepers'  rooms,  and  pan- 
tries; and  in  one  of  them  Mr.  Mulliner  was  re- 
ported to  sit.  Indeed,  looking  askance,  we  often 
saw  the  back  of  a  head,  covered  with  hair- 
powder,  which  also  extended  itself  over  his 
coat-collar  down  to  his  very  waist;  and  this 
imposing  back  was  always  engaged  in  reading 
the  Si.  /antes' s  Chronicle^  opened  wide,  which 
in  some  degree  accounted  for  the  length  of 
time  the  said  newspaper  was  in  reaching  us — 
equal  subscribers  with  Mrs.  Jamiesou,  though, 


"IL^our  XaDgBbfp."  139 

in  right  of  her  honorableness,  she  always  had 
the  reading  of  it  first.  This  verj-  Tuesday, 
the  delay  in  forwarding  the  last  number  had 
been  particularly  aggravating;  just  when  both 
Miss  Pole  and  Miss  Matty,  the  former  more 
especially,  had  been  wanting  to  see  it,  in  order 
to  catch  up  the  court-news,  ready  for  the 
evening! s  interview  with  aristocracy.  Miss 
Pole  told  us  she  had  absolutely  taken  time  by 
the  forelock,  and  been  dressed  bj^  five  o'clock, 
in  order  to  be  ready  if  the  St  /ames's  C/iromc/e 
should  come  in  at  the  last  moment — the  very 
St  /ames's  Chronicle  which  the  powdered-head 
was  tranquilly  and  composedlj^  reading  as  we 
passed  the  accustomed  window  this  evening. 

"The  impudence  of  the  man!"  said  Miss 
Pole,  in  a  low,  indignant  whisper.  "  I  should 
like  to  ask  him  whether  his  mistress  pays  her 
quarter-share  for  his  exclusive  use." 

We  looked  at  her  in  admiration  of  the  cour- 
age of  her  thought;  for  Mr.  Mulliner  was  an 
object  of  great  awe  to  all  of  us.  He  seemed 
never  to  have  forgotten  his  condescension  in 
coming  to  live  at  Cranford.  Miss  Jenkyns,  at 
times,  had  stood  forth  as  the  undaunted  cham- 
pion of  her  sex,  and  spoken  to  him  on  terms 
of  equality;  but  even  Miss  Jenkyns  could  get 
no  higher.  In  his  pleasantest  and  most  gra- 
cious moods,  he  looked  like  a  sulky  cockatoo. 
He  did  not  speak  except  in  gruff  monosylla- 
bles. He  would  wait  in  the  hall  when  we 
begged  him  not  to  wait,  and  tJien  looked  deeply 


140 


Cvantor?. 


offended  because  we  had  kept  him  there,  while, 
with  trembling,  hasty  hands,  we  prepared  our- 
selves for  appearing  in  companJ^ 

Miss  Pole  ventured  on  a  small  joke  as  we 
went  up  stairs,  intended,  though  addressed  to 
us,  to  afford  Mr.  Mulliner  some  slight  amuse- 
ment. We  all  smiled,  in  order  to  seem  as  if 
we  felt  at  our  ease,  and  timidly  looked  for  Mr. 
Mulliner's  sympathy.  Not  a  muscle  of  that 
wooden  face  had  relaxed;  and  we  were  grave 
in  an  instant. 

Mrs.  Jamieson's  drawing-room  was  cheerful; 
the  evening  sun  came  streaming  into  it,  and 
the  large  square  window  was  clustered  round 
with  flowers.  The  furniture  was  white  and 
gold;  not  of  the  later  style,  Louis  Ouatorze  I 
think  thej'  call  it,  all  shells  and  twirls;  no, 
Mrs.  Jamieson's  chairs  and  tables  had  not  a 
curve  or  bend  about  them.  The  chair  and 
table  legs  diminished  as  they  neared  the 
ground,  and  were  straight  and  square  in  all 
their  corners.  The  chairs  were  all  a-row 
against  the  walls,  with  the  exception  of  four  or 
five  which  stood  in  a  circle  round  the  fire. 
They  were  railed  with  white  bars  across  the 
back,  and  knobbed  with  gold;  neither  the  rail- 
ings nor  tlie  knobs  invited  to  ease.  There  was 
a  japanned  table  devoted  to  literature,  on  which 
lay  a  Bible,  a  Peerage,  and  a  Prayer-book. 
There  was  another  square  Pembroke  table  ded- 
icated to  the  fine  arts,  on  which  there  was  a 
kaleidoscope,  con  versa  tiou-cards,  puzzle- cards 


"lour  XaOgeblp."  141 

(tied  together  to  an  intermiuable  length  of 
faded  pink  satin  ribbon),  and  a  box  painted  in 
fond  imitation  of  the  drawings  which  decorate 
tea-chests.  Carlo  lay  on  the  worsted-worked 
rug,  and  ungraciously  barked  at  us  as  we  en- 
tered. Mrs.  Jamieson  stood  up,  giving  us  each 
a  torpid  smile  of  welcome,  and  looking  help- 
lessly beyond  us  at  Mr.  Mulliner,  as  if  she 
hoped  he  would  place  us  in  chairs,  for  if  he  did 
not,  she  never  could.  I  suppose  he  thought 
we  could  find  our  way  to  the  circle  around  the 
fire,  which  reminded  me  of  Stonehenge,  I  don't 
know  why.  Lady  Glenmire  came  to  the  rescue 
of  our  hostess;  and  somehow  or  other  we  found 
ourselves  for  the  first  time  placed  agreeably, 
and  not  formally,  in  Mrs.  Jamieson 's  house. 
Lady  Glenmire,  now  we  had  time  to  look  at 
her,  proved  to  be  a  bright  little  woman  of 
middle  age,  who  had  been  very  pretty  in  the 
days  of  her  youth,  and  who  was  even  yet  very 
pleasant-looking.  I  saw  Miss  Pole  appraising 
her  dress  in  the  first  five  minutes;  and  I  take 
her  word,  when  she  said  the  next  day, 

"My  dear!  ten  pounds  would  have  purchased 
every  stitch  she  had  on — lace  and  all." 

It  was  very  pleasant  to  suspect  that  a  peer- 
ees  could  be  poor,  and  partly  reconciled  us  to 
the  fact  that  her  husband  had  never  sat  in  the 
House  of  Lords;  which,  when  we  first  heard  of 
it,  seemed  a  kind  of  swindling  us  out  of  our 
respect  on  false  pretences;  a  sort  of  "A  Lord 
and  no  Lord"  business. 


142  CranforO. 

We  were  all  very  silent  at  first.  We  were 
thinking  what  we  could  talk  about,  that  should 
be  high  enough  to  interest  ray  lady.  There 
had  been  a  rise  in  the  price  of  sugar,  which,  as 
preserving-time  was  near,  was  a  piece  of  intel- 
ligence to  all  our  housekeeping  hearts,  and 
would  have  been  the  natural  topic  if  Lady 
Glenmire  had  not  been  by.  But  we  were  not 
sure  if  the  Peerage  ate  preserves — much  less 
knew  how  they  were  made.  At  last  Miss  Pole, 
who  had  always  a  great  deal  of  courage  and 
savoir  /aire,  spoke  to  Lady  Glenmire,  who  on 
her  part  had  seemed  j  ust  as  much  puzzled  to 
know  how  to  break  the  silence  as  we  were. 

"Has  your  ladyship  been  to  court  lately?" 
asked  she;  and  then  gave  a  little  glance  round 
at  us,  half  timid  and  half  triumphant,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "See  how  judiciously  I  have  chosen 
a  subject  befitting  the  rank  of  the  stranger!  " 

"I  never  was  there  in  my  life,"  said  Lady 
Glenmire,  with  a  broad  Scotch  accent,  but  in  a 
very  sweet  voice.  And  then,  as  if  she  had  been 
too  abrupt,  she  added:  "We  very  seldom  went 
to  London ;  only  twice,  in  fact,  during  all  my 
married  life;  and  before  I  was  married,  my 
father  had  far  too  large  a  family" — (fifth 
daughter  of  Mr.  Campbell,  was  in  all  our 
minds,  I  am  sure) — "to  take  us  often  from  our 
home,  even  to  Edinburgh.  Ye  '11  hav'e  been  in 
Edinburgh,  may  be?"  said  she,  suddenly 
brightening  up,  with  the  hope  of  a  common 
interest.     We  had  none  of  us  been  there;  but 


"lL>our  XaOi2Bbfp."  143 

Miss  Pole  had  an  uncle  who  once  had  passed 
a  night  there,  which  was  very  pleasant. 

Mrs.  Jamieson,  meanwhile,  was  absorbed  in 
wonder  why  Mr.  Mulliner  did  not  bring  the 
tea;  and,  at  length,  the  wonder  oozed  out  of 
her  mouth. 

"  I  had  better  ring  the  bell,  my  dear,  had  not 
I?"  said  L,ady  Glenmire,  briskly. 

"No — I  think  not — Mulliner  does  not  like 
to  be  hurried." 

We  should  have  liked  our  tea,  for  we  dined 
at  an  earlier  hour  than  Mrs.  Jamieson.  I  sus- 
pect Mr.  Mulliner  had  to  finish  the  St  James's 
Chronicle  before  he  chose  to  trouble  himself 
about  tea.  His  mistress  fidgeted  and  fidgeted, 
and  kept  saying,  "  I  can't  think  why  Mulliner 
does  not  bring  tea.  I  can't  think  what  he  can 
be  about."  And  Lady  Glenmire  at  last  grew 
quite  impatient,  but  it  was  a  pretty  kind  of  im- 
patience, after  all;  and  she  rung  the  bell 
rather  sharply,  on  receiving  a  half  permission 
from  her  sister-in-law  to  do  so.  Mr.  Mulliner 
appeared  in  dignified  surprise.  "Oh!"  said 
Mrs.  Jamieson,  "Lady  Glenmire  rang  the 
bell;  I  believe  it  was  for  tea." 

In  a  few  minutes  tea  was  brought.  Very 
delicate  was  the  china,  very  old  the  plate, 
very  thin  the  bread  and  butter,  and  very  small 
the  lumps  of  sugar.  Sugar  was  evidently  Mrs. 
Jamieson' s  favorite  economy.  I  question  if 
the  little  filigree  sugar-tongs,  made  something 
like  scissors,   could   have  opened   themselves 


144 


CranfotO. 


wide  enough  to  take  up  an  honest,  vulgar, 
good-sized  piece;  and  when  I  tried  to  take 
two  little  minikin  pieces  at  once,  so  as  not  to 
be  detected  in  too  many  returns  to  the  sugar 
basin,  they  absolutely  dropped  one,  with  a 
little  sharp  clatter,  quite  in  a  malicious  and 
unnatural  manner.  But  before  this  happened, 
we  had  had  a  slight  disappointment.  In  th( 
little  silver  jug  was  cream,  in  the  larger  out 
was  milk.  As  soon  as  Mr.  Mullin«r  came  in. 
Carlo  began  to  beg,  which  was  a  thing  oui 
manners  forbade  us  to  do,  though  I  am  sure 
we  were  just  as  hungry;  and  Mrs.  Jamieson 
said  she  was  certain  we  would  excuse  her  if 
she  gave  her  poor  dumb  Carlo  his  tea  first. 
She  accordingly  mixed  a  saucerful  for  him, 
and  put  it  down  for  him  to  lap;  and  then  she 
told  us  how  intelligent  and  sensible  the  dear 
little  fellow  was;  he  knew  cream  quite  well, 
and  constantly  refused  tea  with  only  milk  in  it, 
so  the  milk  was  left  for  us;  but  we  silently 
thought  we  were  quite  as  intelligent  and  sensi- 
ble as  Carlo,  and  felt  as  if  insult  were  added  to 
injur}',  when  we  were  called  upon  to  admire 
the  gratitude  evinced  by  his  wagging  his  tail 
for  the  cream,  which  should  have  been  ours. 

After  tea  we  thawed  down  into  common-life 
subjects.  We  were  thankful  to  Lady  Glen- 
mire  for  having  proposed  some  more  bread  and 
butter,  and  this  mutual  want  made  us  better 
acquainted  with  her  than  we  should  ever  have 
been  with  talking  about   the   court,    though 


"l^our  5LaOi26bip."  145 

Miss  Pole  did  say  she  had  hoped  I.0  know  how 
the  dear  queen  was  from  some  one  who  had 
seen  her. 

The  friendship,  begun  over  bread  and  butter, 
extended  on  to  cards.  Lady  Glenmire  played 
Preference  to  admiration,  and  was  a  complete 
authority  as  to  Ombre  and  Quadrille.  Even 
Miss  Pole  quite  forgot  to  say  "my  lady,"  and 
"  your  ladyship,"  andsaid,  "Basto!  ma'am;" 
"You  have  Spadille,  I  believe,"  just  as  quietly 
as  if  we  had  never  held  the  great  Cranford  par- 
liament on  the  subject  of  the  proper  mode  of 
addressing  a  peeress. 

As  a  proof  of  how  thoroughly  we  had  for- 
gotten that  we  were  in  the  presence  of  one  who 
might  have  sat  down  to  tea  with  a  coronet,  in- 
stead of  a  cap,  on  her  head,  Mrs.  Forrester  re- 
lated a  curious  little  fact  to  Lady  Glenmire — 
an  anecdote  known  to  the  circle  of  her  intimate 
friends,  but  of  which  even  Mrs.  Jamieson  was 
not  aware.  It  related  to  some  fine  old  lace 
■;he  sole  relic  of  better  days,  which  Lady  Glen- 
mire was  admiring  on  Mrs.  Forrester's  collar. 

"Yes,"  said  that  lady,  "such  lace  can  not 
be  got  now  for  either  love  or  money;  made  by 
the  nuns  abroad,  they  tell  me.  They  say  that 
they  can't  make  it  now,  even  there.  But  per- 
haps they  can  now  they've  passed  the  Cath- 
olic Emancipation  Bill.  I  should  not  wonder. 
Put,  in  the  meantime,  I  treasure  up  my  lace 
very  much.  I  daren't  even  trust  the  washing 
of  it  to  my  maid"  (the  little  chaiit;  -school  girl 
10 


146  GranfotO. 

I  have  named  before,  but  who  sounded  well  as 
"my  maid".)  I  always  wash  it  myself.  And 
once  it  had  a  narrow  escape.  Of  course,  your 
ladyship  knows  that  such  lace  must  never  be 
starched  or  ironed.  Some  people  wash  it  in 
sugar  and  water;  and  some  in  coffee,  to  make 
it  the  right  yellow  color;  but  I  myself  have  a 
very  good  receipt  for  washing  it  in  milk,  which 
stiffens  it  enough,  and  gives  it  a  very  good 
creamy  color.  Well,  ma'am,  I  had  tacked  it 
together  (and  the  beauty  of  this  fine  lace  is, 
that  when  it  is  wet,  it  goes  into  a  very  little 
space),  and  put  it  to  soak  in  milk,  when,  un- 
fortunately, I  left  the  room;  on  my  return,  I 
found  pussy  on  the  table,  looking  very  like  a 
thief,  but  gulping  ver)'  uncomfortably,  as  if 
she  was  half  choked  with  something  she 
wanted  to  swallow  and  could  not.  And,  would 
you  believe  it?  At  first  I  pitied  her,  and  said, 
'  Poor  pussy !  poor  pussy  ! '  till,  all  at  once, 
I  looked  and  saw  the  cup  of  milk  empty — 
cleaned  out !  '  You  naughty  cat ! '  said  I;  and 
I  believe  I  was  pro\'t)ked  enough  to  give  her  a 
slap,  which  did  no  good,  but  only  helped  the 
lace  down — just  as  one  slaps  a  choking  child 
on  the  back.  I  could  have  cried — I  was  so 
vexed;  but  I  determined  I  would  not  give  the 
lace  up  without  a  struggle  for  it.  I  hoped  the 
lace  might  disagree  with  her,  at  any  rate;  but 
it  would  have  been  too  much  for  Job,  if  he  had 
seen,  as  I  did,  that  cat  come  in,  qu'ite  placid 
and  purring,  not  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after, 


♦'Kour  XaOBSbfp."  147 


and  almost  expecting  to  be  stroked.  '  No, 
pussy  ! '  said  I ;  '  if  you  have  any  conscience, 
you  ought  not  to  expect  that ! '  And  then  a 
thought  struck  me;  and  I  rung  the  bell  for  my 
maid,  and  sent  her  to  Mr.  Hoggins,  with  my 
compliments,  and  would  he  be  kind  enough  to 
lend  me  one  of  his  top-boots  for  an  hour?  I 
did  not  think  there  was  anything  odd  in  the 
message;  but  Jenny  said  the  young  men  in 
the  surgery  laughed  as  if  they  would  be  ill,  at 
ray  wanting  a  top-boot.  When  it  came,  Jenny 
and  I  put  pussy  in,  with  her  fore-feet  straight 
down,  so  that  they  were  fastened,  and  could 
not  scratch,  and  we  gave  her  a  tea-spoonful  of 
currant  jelly,  in  which  (your  ladyship  must 
excuse  me)  I  had  mixed  some  tartar  emetic. 
I  shall  never  forget  how  anxious  I  was  for  the 
next  half  hour.  I  took  pussy  to  my  own  room, 
and  spread  a  clean  towel  on  the  floor.  I  could 
have  kissed  her  when  she  returned  the  lace  to 
sight,  very  much  as  it  had  gone  down.  Jenny 
had  boiling  water  ready,  and  we  soaked  it  and 
soaked  it,  and  spread  it  on  a  lavender-bush  in 
the  sun,  before  I  could  touch  it  again,  even  to 
put  it  in  milk.  But  now  your  ladyship  would 
never  guess  that  it  had  been  in  puss's  inside." 
We  found  out,  in  the  course  of  the  evening, 
that  Lady  Glenmire  was  going  to  pay  Mrs. 
Jamieson  a  long  visit,  as  she  had  given  up  her 
apartments  in  Edinburgh,  and  had  no  ties  to 
take  her  back  there  in  a  hurry.  On  the  whole, 
we  were  rather  glad  to  hear  this,  for  she  had 


148  CranforD. 

made  a  pleasant  impression  upon  us;  and  it 
was  also  very  comfortable  to  find,  from  things 
which  dropped  out  in  the  course  of  conversa- 
tion, that,  in  addition  to  many  other  genteel 
qualities,  she  was  far  removed  from  the  vulgar- 
ity of  wealth. 

"Don't  you  find  it  very  unpleasant,  walk 
ing?"  asked  Mrs.  Jamieson,  as  our  respective 
servants  were  announced.  It  was  a  pretty  reg- 
ular question  from  Mrs.  Jamieson,  who  had 
her  own  carriage  in  the  coach-house,  and  al- 
ways went  out  in  a  sedan-chair  to  the  very 
shortest  distances.  The  answers  were  nearly 
as  much  a  matter  of  course. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no!  it  is  so  pleasant  and  still  at 
night!  "  "  Such  a  refreshment  after  the  excite- 
ment of  a  party! "  "  The  stars  are  so  beauti- 
ful!"     This  last  was  from  Miss  Matty. 

' '  Are  you  fond  of  astronomy  ?  ' '  L,ady  Glen- 
mire  asked. 

"Not  very,"  replied  Miss  Matty,  rather 
confused  at  the  moment  to  remember  which 
was  astronomy  and  which  was  astrology  ;  but 
the  answer  was  true  under  either  circumstance, 
for  she  read,  and  was  slightly  alarmed  at, 
Francis  Moore's  astrological  predictions;  and 
as  to  astronomy,  in  a  private  and  confidential 
conversation,  she  had  told  me  she  never  could 
believe  that  the  earth  was  moving  constantly, 
and  that  she  would  not  believe  it  if  she  could, 
it  made  her  feel  so  tired  and  dizzy  whenever 
she  thought  about  it. 


"  lout  laOgsbip."  149 

In  our  pattens,  we  picked  our  way  home 
with  extra  care  that  night,  so  refined  and  deH- 
cate  were  our  perceptions  after  drinking  tea 
with  "  my  lady." 


CHAPTER  IX. 


SIGNOR  BRUNONI. 


SOON  after  the  events  of  which  I  gave  an 
account  in  my  last  paper,  I  was  sum- 
moned home  by  my  father's  illness;  and  for  a 
time  I  forgot,  in  anxiety  about  him,  to  wonder 
how  my  dear  friends  at  Crauford  were  getting 
on,  or  how  Lady  Glenmire  could  reconcile  her- 
self to  the  dulness  of  the  long  visit  which  she 
was  still  paying  to  her  sister-in-law,  Mrs. 
Jaraieson.  When  my  father  grew  a  little 
stronger  I  accompanied  him  to  the  sea-side,  so 
that  altogether  I  seemed  banished  from  Cran- 
ford,  and  was  deprived  of  the  opportunity  of 
hearing  any  chance  intelligence  of  the  dear 
little  town  for  the  greater  part  of  that  3'ear. 

Late  in  November — when  we  had  returned 
home  again,  and  my  father  was  once  more  in 
good  health — I  received  a  letter  from  Miss 
Matty,  and  a  very  mysterious  letter  it  was. 
She  began  many  sentences  without  ending 
them,  running  them  one  into  another,  in  much 
the  same  confused  sort  of  way  in  which  written 
words  run  together  on  blotting-paper.  All  I 
could  make  out  was,  that  if  my  father  was 
better  (which  she  hoped  he  was),  and  would 
take  warning  and  wear  a  great-coat  from  Mich- 
(150) 


Signoc  asrunoni.  151 

aelmas  to  Lady-day,  if  turbans  were  in  fashion, 
could  I  tell  her  ?  such  a  piece  of  gayety  was 
going  to  happen  as  had  not  been  seen  or  known 
of  since  Wombwell's  lions  came,  when  one  of 
them  ate  a  little  child's  arm;  and  she  was,  per- 
haps, too  old  to  care  about  dress,  but  a  new 
cap  she  must  have;  and,  having  heard  that 
turbans  were  worn,  and  some  of  the  county 
families  likely  to  come,  she  would  like  to  look 
tidy,  if  I  would  bring  her  a  cap  from  the  mil- 
liner I  employed;  and  oh,  dear!  how  careless 
of  her  to  forget  that  she  wrote  to  beg  I  would 
come  and  pay  her  a  visit  next  Tuesday;  when 
she  hoped  to  have  something  to  oflfer  me  in  the 
way  of  amusement,  which  she  would  not  now 
more  particularly  describe,  only  sea-green  was 
her  favorite  color.  So  she  ended  her  letter; 
but  in  a  P.  S.  she  added,  she  thought  she 
might  as  well  tell  me  what  was  the  peculiar 
attraction  to  Cranford  just  now:  Signor 
Brunoni  was  going  to  exhibit  his  wonderful 
magic  in  the  Cranford  Assembly  Rooms,  on 
Wednesday  and  Friday  evening  in  the  follow- 
ing week. 

I  was  very  glad  to  accept  the  invitation  from 
my  dear  Miss  Matty,  independently  of  the  con- 
jurer; and  most  particularly  anxious  to  pre- 
vent her  from  disfiguring  her  small  gentle 
mousey  face  with  a  great  Saracen 's-head  tur- 
ban; and  accordingly  I  bought  her  a  pretty, 
neat,  middle-aged  cap,  which,  however,  was 
rather  a  disappointment  to  her  when,  on  my 


152 


CranforD. 


arrival,  she  followed  me  into  my  bedroom, 
ostensibly  to  poke  the  fire,  but  in  reality,  I  do 
believe,  to  see  if  the  sea-green  turban  was  not 
inside  the  cap-box  with  which  I  had  travelled. 
It  was  in  vain  that  I  twirled  the  cap  round  on 
my  hand  to  exhibit  back  and  side  fronts:  her 
heart  had  been  set  upon  a  turban,  and  all  she 
could  do  was  to  say,  with  resignation  in  her 
look  and  voice : 

* '  I  am  sure  you  did  5'our  best,  my  dear.  It 
is  just  like  the  caps  all  the  ladies  in  Cranford 
are  wearing,  and  *hey  have  liad  theirs  for  a 
year,  I  dare  say.  I  should  have  liked  some- 
thing newer,  I  confess — something  more  like 
the  turbans  Miss  Betty  Barker  tells  me  Queen 
Adelaide  wears;  but  it  is  very  pretty,  my  dear. 
And  I  dare  say  lavender  will  wear  better  than 
sea-green.  Well,  after  all,  what  is  dress  that 
we  should  care  about  it!  You'll  tell  me  if  you 
want  anything,  my  dear.  Here  is  the  bell.  I 
suppose  turbans  have  not  got  down  to  Drum- 
bleyet?" 

So  saying,  the  dear  old  lady  gently  be- 
moaned herself  out  of  the  room,  leaving  me  to 
dress  for  the  evening,  when,  as  she  informed 
me,  she  expected  Miss  Pole  and  Mrs.  For- 
rester, and  she  hoped  I  should  not  feel  myself 
too  much  tired  to  join  the  party.  Of  course  I 
should  not;  and  I  made  some  haste  to  unpack 
and  arrange  my  dress;  but,  with  all  my  speed, 
I  heard  the  arrivals  and  the  buzz  of  conversa- 
tion  in   the  next  room  before  I  was  ready. 


Sfgnor  JStunonl.  153 

Just  as  I  opened  the  door  I  caught  the  words. 
' '  I  was  foolish  to  expect  anything  very  genteel 
out  of  the  Drumble  shops — poor  girl!  she  did 
her  best,  I've  no  doubt."  But,  for  all  that,  I 
had  rather  that  she  blamed  Drumble  and  me 
than  disfigured  herself  with  a  turban. 

Miss  Pole  was  always  the  person,  in  the  trio 
of  Cranford  ladies  now  assembled,  to  have  had 
adventures.  She  was  in  the  habit  of  spending 
the  morning  in  rambling  from  shop  to  shop  ; 
not  to  purchase  anything  (except  an  occasional 
reel  of  cotton  or  a  piece  of  tape),  but  to  see  the 
new  articles  and  report  upon  them,  and  to  col- 
lect all  the  stray  pieces  of  intelligence  in  the 
town.  She  had  a  way,  too,  of  demurely  pop- 
ping hither  and  thither  into  all  sorts  of  places 
to  gratify  her  curiosity  on  any  point;  a  way 
which,  if  she  had  not  looked  so  very  genteel 
and  prim,  might  have  been  considered  imper- 
tinent. And  now,  by  the  expressive  way  in 
which  she  cleared  her  throat,  and  waited  for 
all  minor  subjects  (such  as  caps  and  turbans) 
to  be  cleared  off  the  course,  we  knew  she  had 
something  very  particular  to  relate,  when  the 
due  pause  came;  and  I  defy  any  people,  pos- 
sessed of  common  modesty,  to  keep  up  a  con- 
versation long,  where  one  among  them  sits  up 
aloft  in  silence,  looking  down  upon  all  the 
things  they  chance  to  say  as  trivial  and  con- 
temptible compared  to  what  they  could  dis- 
close if  properly  entreated.     Misfi  Pole  began: 

"  As  I  was  stepping  out  of  Gordon's  shop  to- 


154  Ctanfot^. 

day,  IdianoedtDgomto  flieGeacge(inyBet:l^ 
has  a  seoond  cousin  wbo  is  diambar-maid  there, 
and  I  thought  Bettf  would  like  to  hear  how 
die  wasX  and,  not  seetng  any  one  about,  I 
stroHed  iqi  the  staiicase,  and  fionnd  myself  in 
the  passage  leadii^  to  the  Assembly  Soom  Oron 
and  I  remember  the  Assembby  Room,  I  am  sure. 
Miss  Matty!  and  the  wntniefs  de  la.  €amr!)  \  s« 
I  went  on,  not  thinking  of  what  I  was  about, 
when,  an  at  once,  I  perceived  that  I  was  in  the 
middle  of  the  preparations  for  to-mooow  night 
— the  loom  bong  divided  with  great  dk>thes- 
nudds,  over  which  Crosby's  men  woe  tacking 
xed  flannel;  veiy  dark  and  odd  it  seemed;  it 
quite  bewildered  me,  and  I  was  going  on  be- 
hind the  screens^  in  my  absence  <tf  mind,  when 
a  gentleman  (quite  the  gentleman,  I  can  assure 
yon)  stepped  fawaid  and  asked  if  I  had  any 
Iwisiness  he  could  anange  for  me.  He  qpofce 
sndi  pretty  broken  Knglish,  I  could  not  hdp 
tirinkiiqf  of  Thaddens  oi  Warsaw,  and  the 
Hm^arian  Brothers,  and  Santo  Sebastiani ; 
and  while  I  was  busy  picturing  his  past  life  to 
mysd^he  hadbowedmeontofthenxnn.  But 
wait  a  minute !  You  have  not  heard  half  my 
story  yet!  I  was  gvring  down  stairs,  when 
who  should  I  meet  but  Betty's  second  cousin. 
So,  of  course,  I  stopped  to  ^)eak  to  her  kx 
Betty's  sake;  and  she  told  me  tibat  I  had  really 
seen  the  conjurer — the  genUeman  who  spc^e 
broken  l^gfeh  was  Signer  Binnoni  himself. 
Just  at  this  moment  he  passed  us  on  the  stairs. 


Sionor  ScobobL  155 

making  such  a  giacefol  bow.  in  leply  to  which 
I  dropped  a  curtsy — all  fordgners  have  sadi 
polite  manneis,  one  catches  som^hing  of  it. 
Bat  when  he  had  gone  down  stairs,  I  be- 
:hoaght  me  that  I  had  dxof^ied  my  glove  in 
'.he  Assembly  Room  (it  was  safe  in  my  mnff 
all  the  time,  but  I  never  found  it  till  afberwaid); 
so  I  went  back,  and,  just  as  I  was  ae^Hng  up 
the  passage  left  on  one  sade  of  the  great  screen 
that  goes  nearly  across  die  nxmi,  who  ^bonld 
I  see  bnt  the  veiy  same  gentleman  that  had 
met  me  before,  and  passed  me  on  the  staiis, 
coming  now  forward  ftom  the  inner  part  of  the 
room,  to  which  there  is  no  entrance — j'ou  re- 
member. Miss  Matty! — andjnstxepeatinginhis 
pretty  broken  Rngish,  the  inquiry  if  I  had  any 
business  there — ^I  don't  mean  that  he  put  it 
quite  so  bluntly,  but  he  seemed  very  d^er- 
mined  that  I  should  not  pass  the  screen;  so, 
of  course,  I  explained  about  my  gfove,  which, 
curiously  enough,  I  found  at  that  vexy  mo- 
ment." 

Miss  Pole  then  had  seen  the  conjurer — the 
real  live  conjurer! — and  numeroas  were  the 
questions  we  all  a^Efid  ho^  "Had  he  a  beard?" 
"  Was  he  young  <x  <rfd? "  "Fair  <Mr  dark?  " 
"Did  he  look" — (unable  to  shape  my  questioa 
prudently,  I  put  it  in  another  form)— "How 
did  he  look?"  In  short.  Mis  Pole  was  the 
heroine  of  the  evening,  owing  to  her  morning's 
encounter.  If  she  was  not  the  rose  (that  is  to 
say,  the  conjure),  she  had  been  near  it. 


156  CcantorD. 

Conjuration,  sleight  of  liand,  magic,  witch- 
craft, were  the  subjects  of  the  evening.  Miss 
Pole  was  slightly  skeptical,  and  inclined  to 
think  there  might  be  a  scientific  solution  found 
for  even  the  proceedings  of  the  witch  of  Endor. 
Mrs.  Forrester  believed  everything,  from  ghosts 
to  death-watches.  Miss  Matty  ranged  between 
the  two — always  convinced  by  the  last  speaker. 
I  think  she  was  naturally  more  inclined  to  Mrs. 
Forrester's  side,  but  a  desire  of  proving  her- 
self a  worthy  sister  to  Miss  Jenkyns  kept  her 
equally  balanced — Miss  Jenkyns,  who  would 
never  allow  a  servant  to  call  the  little  rolls  of 
tallow  that  formed  themselves  round  candles, 
' '  winding-sheets, ' '  but  insisted  on  their  being 
spoken  of  as  "  roly-poleys!"  A  sister  of  hers 
to  be  superstitious!     It  would  never  do! 

After  tea,  I  was  despatched  down  stairs  into 
the  dining-parlor  for  that  volume  of  the  old 
Encyclopedia  which  contained  the  nouns  begin- 
ning with  C,  in  order  that  Miss  Pole  might 
prime  herself  with  scientific  explanations  for 
the  tricks  of  the  following  evening.  It  spoiled 
the  pool  at  Preference  which  Miss  Matty  and 
Mrs.  Forrester  had  been  looking  forward  to, 
for  Miss  Pole  became  so  much  absorbed  in  her 
subject,  and  the  plates  by  which  it  was  illus- 
trated, that  we  felt  it  would  be  cruel  to  disturb 
her,  otherwise  than  by  one  or  two  well-timed 
yawns,  which  I  threw  in  now  and  then,  for  I 
was  really  touched  by  the  meek  way  in  which 
the  two  ladies  were  bearing  their  disappoint- 


Signer  JBrunoni.  157 

ment.  Bu';  Miss  Pole  only  read  the  more 
zealously,  imparting  to  us  no  more  interesting 
information  than  this: 

"Ah!  I  see — I  comprehend  perfectly.  A 
represents  the  ball.  Put  A  between  B  and  D 
• — no!  between  C  and  F — and  turn  the  second 
joint  of  the  third  finger  of  your  left  hand  over 
the  wrist  of  your  right  H.  Very  clear  indeed! 
My  dear  Mrs.  Forrester,  conjuring  and  witch- 
craft is  a  mere  affair  of  the  alphabet.  Do  let 
me  read  you  this  one  passage  ?" 

Mrs.  Forrester  implored  Miss  Pole  to  spare 
her,  saying,  from  a  child  upward,  she  never 
could  understand  being  read  aloud  to,  and  I 
dropped  the  pack  of  cards,  which  I  had  been 
shuffling  very  audibly;  and  by  this  discreet 
movement  I  obliged  Miss  Pole  to  perceive  that 
Preference  was  to  have  been  the  order  of  the 
evening,  and  to  propose,  rather  unwillingly, 
that  the  pool  should  commence.  The  pleas- 
ant brightness  that  stole  over  the  other  two 
ladies'  faces  on  this!  Miss  Matty  had  one  or 
two  twinges  of  self-reproach  for  having  inter- 
rupted Miss  Pole  in  her  studies;  and  did  not 
remember  her  cards  well  or  give  her  full  atten- 
tion to  the  game,  until  she  had  soothed  her 
conscience  by  offering  to  lend  the  volume  of 
the  Encyclopedia  to  Miss  Pole,  who  accepted  it 
thankfully,  and  said  Betty  should  take  it 
home  when  she  came  with  the  lantern. 

The  next  evening  we  were  all  in  a  little  gen- 
tle flutter  at  the  idea  of  the  gayety  before  us. 


158  Cranfor5. 

Miss  Matty  went  up  to  dress  betimes,  and  hur- 
ried me  until  I  was  ready,  when  we  found  we 
had  an  hour  and  a  half  to  wait  Jjefore  the 
"doors  opened  at  seven  precisely."  And  we 
had  only  twenty  yards  to  go!  However,  as 
Miss  Matty  said,  it  would  not  do  to  get  too 
much  absorbed  in  anything,  and  forget  the 
time;  so  she  thought  we  had  better  sit  quietly, 
without  lighting  the  candles,  until  five  min- 
utes to  seven.  So  Miss  Matty  dozed,  and  I 
knitted. 

At  length  we  set  off;  and  at  the  door,  under 
the  carriage-way  at  the  George,  we  met  Mrs. 
Forrester  and  Miss  Pole;  the  latter  was  dis- 
cussing the  subject  of  the  evening  with  more 
vehemence  than  ever,  and  throwing  A's  and 
B's  at  our  heads  like  hail-stones.  She  had 
even  copied  one  or  two  of  the  "  receipts" — as 
she  called  them — for  the  different  tricks,  on 
backs  of  letters,  ready  to  explain  and  to  detect 
Signor  Brunoni's  arts. 

We  went  into  the  cloak-room  adjoining  the 
Assembly  Room;  Miss  Matty  gave  a  sigh  or 
two  to  her  departed  j^outh,  and  the  remem- 
brance of  the  last  time  she  had  been  there,  as 
she  adjusted  her  pretty  new  cap  before  the 
strange,  quaint  old  mirror  in  the  cloak-room. 
The  Assembly  Room  had  been  added  to  the 
inn  about  a  hundred  years  before  by  the  dif- 
ferent county  families,  who  met  together  there 
once  a  month  during  the  winter,  to  dance  and 
play  at  cards.     Many   a   county  beauty  had 


Signer  :fi3runonf.  159 

first  swam  through  the  minuet  that  she  after- 
ward danced  before  Queen  Charlotte  in  this 
very  room.  It  was  said  that  one  of  the  Gun- 
nings had  graced  the  apartment  with  her 
beauty ;  it  was  certain  that  a  rich  and  beau- 
tiful widow,  lyady  Williams,  had  here  been 
smitten  with  the  noble  figure  of  a  young  artist, 
who  was  staying  with  some  family  in  the 
neighborhood  for  professional  purposes,  and 
accompanied  his  patrons  to  the  Cranford  As- 
sembly, And  a  pretty  bargain  poor  Lady 
Williams  had  of  her  handsome  husband,  if  all 
tales  were  true!  Now  no  beauty  blushed  and 
dimpled  along  the  sides  of  the  Cranford  As- 
sembly Room;  no  handsome  artist  won  hearts 
by  his  bow,  chapeaii  bras  in  hand:  the  old  room 
was  dingy;  the  salmon-colored  paint  had  faded 
into  a  drab;  great  pieces  of  plaster  had  chipped 
off  from  the  white  wreaths  and  festoons  on  its 
walls;  but  still  a  mouldy  odor  of  aristocracy 
lingered  about  the  place,  and  a  dusty  recollec- 
tion of  the  days  that  were  gone  made  Miss 
Matty  and  Mrs.  Forrester  bridle  up  as  they 
entered,  and  walk  mincingly  up  the  room,  as 
if  there  were  a  number  of  genteel  observers, 
instead  of  two  little  boys,  with  a  stick  of  toffy 
between  them  with  which  to  beguile  the  time. 
We  stopped  short  at  the  second  front  row; 
I  could  hardly  understand  why,  until  I  heard 
Miss  Pole  ask  a  stray  waiter  if  any  of  the 
county  families  were  expected;  and  when  he 
shook  his  head,  and  believed  not,  Mrs.  For- 


i6o  CrautorO. 

rester  and  Miss  Mattie  moved  forward,  and  our 
party  represented  a  conversational  square.  The 
front  row  was  soon  augmented  and  enriched  by- 
Lady  Glenmire  and  Mrs.  Jamieson.  We  six 
occupied  the  two  front  rows,  and  our  aristo- 
cratic seclusion  was  respected  by  the  groups  of 
shopkeepers  who  strayed  in  from  time  to  time, 
and  huddled  together  on  the  back  benches.  At 
least  I  conjectured  so,  from  the  noise  they 
made,  and  the  sonorous  bumps  they  gave  in 
sitting  down;  but  when,  in  weariness  of  the 
obstinate  green  curtains,  that  would  not  draw 
up,  but  would  stare  at  me  with  two  odd  eyes, 
seen  through  holes,  as  in  the  old  tapestry  story, 
I  would  fain  have  looked  round  at  the  merry 
chattering  people  behind  me.  Miss  Pole  clutched 
my  arm,  and  begged  me  not  to  turn,  for  "it 
was  not  the  thing. ' '  What  ' '  the  thing ' '  was  I 
never  could  find  out,  but  it  must  have  been 
something  eminently  dull  and  tiresome.  How- 
ever, we  all  sat  eyes  right,  square  front,  gazing 
at  the  tantalizing  curtain,  and  hardly  speaking 
intelligibly,  we  were  so  afraid  of  being  caught 
in  the  vulgarity  of  making  any  noise  in  a  place 
of  public  amusement.  Mrs.  Jamieson  was  the 
most  fortunate,  for  she  fell  asleep. 

At  length  the  eyes  disappeared — the  cur- 
tain quivered — one  side  went  up  before  the 
other,  which  stuck  fast;  it  was  dropped  again, 
and,  with  a  fresh  efibrt,  and  a  vigorous  pull 
from  some  unseen  hand,  it  flew  up,  revealing 
to  our  sight  a  magnificent  gentleman  in  the 


Siflnor  JBrunoni.  i6i 

Turkish  costume,  seated  before  a  little  table, 
gazing  at  us  (I  should  have  said  with  the  same 
eyes  that  I  had  last  seen  through  the  hole  in 
the  curtain)  with  calm  and  condescending  dig- 
nity, "like  a  being  of  another  sphere,"  as  I 
heard  a  sentimental  voice  ejaculate  behind  me. 

"That's  not  Signor  Brunoni!"  said  Miss 
Pole,  decidedly,  and  so  audibly  that  I  am  sure 
he  heard,  for  he  glanced  down  over  his  flowing 
beard  at  our  party  with  an  air  of  mute  reproach. 
"Signor  Brunoni  had  no  beard — but  perhaps 
he'll  come  soon."  So  she  lulled  herself  into 
patience.  Meanwhile  Miss  Matty  had  recon- 
noitred through  her  eye-glass ;  wiped  it,  and 
looked  again.  Then  she  turned  round,  and 
said  to  me,  in  a  kind,  mild,  sorrowful  tone: 

"  You  see,  my  dear,  turbans  are  worn." 

But  we  had  no  time  for  more  conversation. 
The  Grand  Turk,  as  Miss  Pole  chose  to  call 
him,  arose  and  announced  himself  as  Signor 
Brunoni. 

"  I  don't  believe  him!"  exclaimed  Miss  Pole, 
in  a  defiant  manner.  He  looked  at  her  again, 
with  the  same  dignified  upbraiding  in  his  coun- 
tenance. "I  don't!"  she  repeated,  more  posi- 
tively than  ever.  "Signor  Brunoni  had  not 
got  that  mufFy  sort  of  thing  about  his  chin, 
but  looked  like  a  close-shaved  Christian  gen- 
tleman." 

Miss  Pole's  energetic  speeches  had  the  good 
effect  of  waking  up  Mrs.  Jamieson,  who  opened 
her  eyes  wide,  in  sign  of  the  deeoest  attention 
II 


i62  Crantor5. 

— a  proceeding  which  sileuced  Miss  Pole,  and 
encouraged  the  Grand  Turk  to  proceed,  which 
he  did  in  very  broken  English — so  broken  that 
there  was  no  cohesion  between  the  parts  of  his 
sentences;  a  fact  which  he  himself  perceived 
at  last,  and  so  left  off  speaking  and  proceeded 
to  action. 

Now  we  were  astonished.  How  he  did  his 
tricks  I  could  not  imagine;  no,  not  even  when 
Miss  Pole  pulled  out  her  pieces  of  paper  and 
began  reading  aloud — or,  at  least,  in  a  very- 
audible  whisper — the  separate  "receipts"  for 
the  most  common  of  his  tricks.  If  ever  I  saw 
a  man  frown,  and  look  enraged,  I  saw  the 
Grand  Turk  frown  at  Miss  Pole:  but,  as  she 
said,  what  could  be  expected  but  unchristian 
looks  from  a  Mussulman  ?  If  Miss  Pole  was 
skeptical,  and  more  engrossed  with  her  receipts 
and  diagrams  than  with  his  tricks.  Miss  Matty 
and  Mrs.  Forrester  were  mystified  and  per- 
plexed to  the  highest  degree.  Mrs.  Jamieson 
kept  taking  her  spectacles  off  and  wiping  them, 
as  if  she  thought  it  was  something  defective  in 
them  which  made  the  legerdemain;  and  Lady 
Glenmire,  who  had  seen  many  curious  sights 
in  Edinburgh,  was  very  much  struck  with  the 
tricks,  and  would  not  at  all  agree  with  Miss 
Pole,  who  declared  that  anybody  could  do 
them  with  a  little  practice — and  that  she  would 
herself  undertake  to  do  all  that  he  did,  with 
two  hours  given  to  study  the  Eyicyclopedia,  and 
make  her  third  finger  flexible. 


Siijnor  Brunonf.  163 

At  last,  Miss  Matty  and  Mrs.  Forrester  be- 
came perfectly  awe-struck.  They  whispered 
together.  I  sat  just  behind  them,  so  I  could 
not  help  hearing  what  they  were  saying.  Miss 
Matty  asked  Mrs.  Forrester  "  if  she  thought  it 
was  quite  right  to  have  come  to  see  such 
things!  She  could  not  help  fearing  they  were 
lending  encouragement  to  something  that  was 
not  quite — "  a  little  shake  of  the  head  filled 
up  the  blank.  Mrs.  Forrester  replied,  that  the 
same  thought  had  crossed  her  mind;  she,  too, 
was  feeling  very  uncomfortable;  it  was  so  very 
strange.  She  was  quite  certain  that  it  was  her 
pocket-handkerchief  which  was  in  that  loaf 
just  now;  and  it  had  been  in  her  own  hand 
not  five  minutes  before.  She  wondered  who 
had  furnished  the  bread.  She  was  sure  it 
could  not  be  Dakin,  because  he  was  the  church- 
warden. Suddenly  Miss  Matty  half  turned 
toward  me: 

"  Will  you  look,  my  dear — you  are  a  stranger 
in  the  town,  and  it  won't  give  rise  to  unpleas- 
ant reports — will  you  just  look  round  and  see 
if  the  rector  is  here  ?  If  he  is  I  think  we  may 
conclude  that  this  wonderfi  nan  is  sanctioned 
by  the  Church,  and  that  Vviil  be  a  great  relief 
to  my  mind." 

I  looked,  and  I  saw  the  tall,  thin,  dry,  dusty 
rector,  sitting  surrounded  by  National  School 
boys,  guarded  by  troops  of  his  own  sex  from 
any  approach  of  the  many  Cranford  spinsters. 
His  kind  face  was  all  agape  with  broad  smiles, 


1 64  CranforD. 

and  the  boys  around  him  were  in  chinks  of 
laughing.  I  told  Miss  Matty  that  the  Church 
was  smiling  approval,  which  set  her  mind  at 
ease. 

I  have  never  named  Mr.  Hayter,  the  rector, 
because  I,  as  a  well-to-do  and  happy  young 
woman,  never  came  in  contact  with  him.  He 
was  an  old  bachelor,  but  as  afraid  of  matrimo- 
nial reports  getting  abroad  about  him  as  any 
girl  of  eighteen;  and  he  would  rush  into  a 
shop,  or  dive  down  an  entry,  sooner  than  en- 
counter any  of  the  Cranford  ladies  in  the  street; 
and,  as  for  the  Preference  parties,  I  did  not 
wonder  at  his  not  accepting  invitations  to  them. 
To  tell  the  truth,  I  always  suspected  Miss  Pole 
of  having  given  very  vigorous  chase  to  Mr. 
Hayter  when  he  first  came  to  Cranford ;  and 
not  the  less,  because  now  she  appeared  to  share 
so  vividly  in  his  dread  lest  her  name  should 
ever  be  coupled  with  his.  He  found  all  his  in- 
terests among  the  poor  and  helpless  ;  he  had 
treated  the  National  School  boys  this  very  night 
to  the  performance  ;  and  virtue  was  for  once  its 
own  reward,  for  they  guarded  him  right  and 
left,  and  clung  round  him  as  if  he  had  been  the 
queen  bee,  and  they  the  swarm.  He  felt  so 
safe  in  their  environment,  that  he  could  even 
afford  to  give  our  party  a  bow  as  we  filed  out. 
Miss  Pole  ignored  his  presence,  and  pretended 
to  be  absorbed  in  convincing  us  that  we  had 
been  cheated,  and  had  not  seen  Signor  Brunoni 
after  all. 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE  PANIC. 


I  THINK  a  series  of  circumstances  dated 
from  Signor  Brunoni's  visit  to  Cranford, 
which  seemed  at  the  time  connected  in  our 
minds  with  him,  though  I  don't  know  that  he 
had  anything  really  to  do  with  them.  All  at 
once  all  sorts  of  uncomfortable  rumors  got 
afloat  in  the  town.  There  were  one  or  two 
robberies — real  bona  fide  robberies ;  men  had 
up  before  the  magistrates  and  committed  for 
trial ;  and  that  seemed  to  make  us  all  afraid 
of  being  robbed ;  and  for  a  long  time  at  Miss 
Matty's,  I  know,  we  used  to  make  a  regular 
tour  all  round  the  kitchens  and  cellars  every 
night,  Miss  Matty  leading  the  way,  armed  with 
the  poker,  I  following  with  the  hearth-brush, 
and  Martha  carrjnng  the  shovel  and  fire-irons 
with  which  to  sound  the  alarm ;  and  by  the 
accidental  hitting  together  of  them  she  often 
frightened  us  so  much  that  we  bolted  ourselves 
up,  all  three  together,  in  the  back  kitchen,  or 
store-room,  or  wherever  we  happened  to  be, 
till,  when  our  affright  was  over,  we  recollected 
ourselves,  and  set  out  with  double  valiance. 
By  day  we  heard  strange  stories  from  the  shop- 
keepers and  cottagers,  of  carts  that  went  about 

C165) 


1 66  CranforO. 

in  the  dead  of  night,  drawn  b}'  horses  shod 
with  felt,  and  guarded  by  men  in  dark  clothes, 
going  round  the  town,  no  doubt,  in  search  of 
some  unwatched  house  or  some  unfastened 
door. 

Miss  Pole,  who  aflfected  great  braver}-  herself, 
was  the  principal  person  to  collect  and  arrange 
these  reports,  so  as  to  make  them  assume  their 
most  fearful  aspect.  But  we  discovered  that 
she  had  begged  one  of  Mr.  Hoggins'  worn-out 
hats  to  hang  up  in  her  lobby,  and  we  (at  least 
I)  had  my  doubts  as  to  whether  she  really 
would  enjoy  the  little  adventure  of  having 
her  house  broken  into,  as  she  protested  she 
should.  Miss  Matty  made  no  secret  of  being 
an  arrant  coward,  but  she  went  regularly 
through  her  housekeeper's  duty  of  inspection 
— only  the  hour  for  this  became  earlier  and 
earlier,  till  at  last  we  went  the  rounds  at  half- 
past  six,  and  Miss  Matty  adjourned  to  bed 
soon  after  seven,  "in  order  to  get  the  night 
over  the  sooner. ' ' 

Cranford  had  so  long  piqued  itself  on  being 
an  honest  and  moral  town,  that  it  had  grown  to 
fancy  itself  too  genteel  and  well-bred  to  be 
otherwise,  and  felt  the  stain  upon  its  character 
at  this  time  doubly.  But  we  comforted  our- 
selves with  the  assurance  which  we  gave  to 
each  other,  that  the  robberies  could  never  have 
been  committed  by  any  Cranford  person;  it 
must  have  been  a  stranger  or  strangers  who 
brought  this  disgrace  upon  the  town,  and  oc- 


XLbc  panic.  167 

casioned  as  many  precautions  as  if  we  were 
living  among  the  Red  Indians  or  the  French. 
This  last  comparison  of  our  nightly  state  of 
defence  and  fortification  was  made  by  Mrs. 
Forrester,  whose  father  had  served  under  Gen- 
eral Burgoyne  in  the  American  war,  and 
whose  husband  had  fought  the  French  in 
Spain.  She  indeed  inclined  to  the  idea  that, 
in  some  way,  the  French  were  connected  with 
the  small  thefts,  which  were  ascertained  facts, 
and  the  burglaries  and  highway  robberies, 
which  were  rumors.  She  had  been  deeply  im- 
pressed with  the  idea  of  French  spies,  at  some 
time  in  her  life ;  and  the  notion  could  never 
be  fairly  eradicated,  but  sprung  up  again  from 
time  to  time.  And  now  her  theory  was  this : 
the  Cranford  people  respected  themselves  too 
much,  and  were  too  grateful  to  the  aristocracy 
who  were  so  kind  as  to  live  near  the  town,  ever 
to  disgrace  their  bringing  up  by  being  dis- 
honest or  immoral ;  therefore,  we  must  believe 
that  the  robbers  were  strangers — if  strangers, 
why  not  foreigners? — if  foreigners,  who  so 
likely  as  the  French?  Signor  Brunoni  spoke 
broken  English  like  a  Frenchman,  and,  though 
he  wore  a  turban  like  a  Turk,  Mrs.  Forrester 
had  seen  a  print  of  Madame  de  Stael  with  a 
turban  on,  and  another  of  Mr.  Denon  in  just 
such  a  dress  as  that  in  which  the  conjurer  had 
made  his  appearance ;  showing  clearly  that 
the  French,  as  well  as  the  Turks,  wore  turbans. 
There  could  be  no  doubt  Signor  Brunoni  was  a 


1 68  CranforO. 

Frencliraan — a  French  spy,  come  to  discover 
the  weak  and  undefended  places  of  England  ; 
and,  doubtless,  he  had  his  accomplices.  For 
her  part,  she,  Mrs.  Forrester,  had  alwaj'S  had 
her  own  opinion  of  Miss  Pole's  adventure  at 
the  George  Inn — seeing  two  men  where  only 
one  was  believed  to  be :  French  people  had 
ways  and  means,  which  she  was  thankful  to 
say  the  English  knew  nothing  about ;  and  she 
had  never  felt  quite  easy  in  her  mind  about 
going  to  see  that  conjurer;  it  was  rather  too 
much  like  a  forbidden  thing,  though  the  rector 
was  there.  In  short,  Mrs.  Forrester  grew  more 
excited  than  we  had  ever  known  her  before  ; 
and,  being  an  officer's  daughter  and  widow, 
we  looked  up  to  her  opinion,  of  course. 

Really,  I  do  not  know  how  much  was  true  or 
false  in  the  reports  which  flew  about  like  wild- 
fire just  at  this  time;  but  it  seemed  to  me  then 
that  there  was  every  reason  to  believe  that  at 
Mardon  (a  small  town  about  eight  miles  from 
Cranford)  houses  and  shops  were  entered  by 
holes  made  in  the  walls,  the  bricks  being 
silently  carried  away  in  the  dead  of  the  night, 
and  all  done  so  quietly  that  no  sound  was  heard 
either  in  or  out  of  the  house.  Miss  Matty  gave 
it  up  in  despair  when  she  heard  of  this.  ' '  What 
was  the  use,"  said  she,  "of  locks  and  bolts, 
and  bells  to  the  windows,  and  going  round  the 
house  every  night  ?  That  last  trick  was  fit  for 
a  conjurer.  Now  she  did  believe  that  Signer 
Brunoni  was  at  the  bottom  of  it." 


XLbe  ipanlc.  169 

.  h — . — — ^ ~ — — - 

One  afternoon,  about  five  o'clock,  we  were 
startled  by  a  hasty  knock  at  the  door.  Miss 
Matty  bade  me  run  and  tell  Martha  on  no  ac- 
count to  open  the  door  till  she  (Miss  Matty) 
had  reconnoitred  through  the  window;  and  she 
armed  herself  with  a  footstool  to  drop  down 
on  the  head  of  the  visitor,  in  case  he  should 
show  a  face  covered  with  black  crape,  as  he 
looked  up  in  answer  to  her  inquir}'  of  who  was 
there.  But  it  was  nobody  but  Miss  Pole  and 
Betty.  The  former  came  up  stairs,  carrying  a 
little  hand-basket,  and  she  was  evidently  in  a 
state  of  great  agitation. 

"Take  care  of  that!"  said  she  to  me,  as  I 
offered  to  relieve  her  of  her  basket.  "It's  my 
plate.  I  am  sure  there  is  a  plan  to  rob  my 
house  to-night.  I  am  come  to  throw  myself  on 
your  hospitalit)"^.  Miss  Matty.  Betty  is  going  to 
sleep  with  her  cousin  at  the  George.  I  can  sit 
up  here  all  night,  if  you  will  allow  me;  but  my 
house  is  so  far  from  any  neighbors,  and  I  don't 
believe  we  could  be  heard  if  we  screamed  ever 
so!" 

"But,"  said  Miss  Matty,  "  what  has  alarmed 
you  so  much  ?  Have  you  seen  any  men  lurk- 
ing about  the  house?" 

' '  Oh  yes ! ' '  answered  Miss  Pole.  ' '  Two  very 
bad-looking  men  have  gone  three  times  past 
the  house,  very  slowly;  and  an  Irish  beggar- 
woman  came  not  half  an  hour  ago,  and  all  but 
forced  herself  in  past  Betty,  saying  her  chil- 
dren were  starving,  and  she  must  speak  to  the 


lyo 


CranforO. 


mistress.  You  see,  she  said  'mistress,'  though 
there  was  a  hat  hanging  up  in  the  hall,  and  it 
would  have  been  more  natural  to  have  said 
'  master.'  But  Betty  shut  the  door  in  her  face, 
and  oame  up  to  me,  and  we  got  the  spoons  to- 
gether, and  sat  in  the  parlor-window  watching, 
till  we  saw  Thomas  Jones  going  from  his  work, 
when  we  called  to  him,  and  asked  him  to  take 
care  of  us  into  the  town." 

We  might  have  triumphed  over  Miss  Pole, 
who  had  professed  such  bravery  until  she  was 
frightened;  but  we  were  too  glad  to  perceive 
that  she  shared  in  the  w^eaknesses  of  humanity 
to  exult  over  her;  and  I  gave  up  my  room  to 
her  very  willingly,  and. shared  Miss  Matty's 
bed  for  the  night.  But  before  we  retired,  the 
tw^o  ladies  rummaged  up,  out  of  the  recesses 
of  their  memory,  such  horrid  stories  of  robbery 
and  murder,  that  I  quite  quaked  in  m}^  shoes. 
Miss  Pole  was  evidently  anxious  to  prove  that 
such  terrible  events  had  occurred  within  her 
experience,  that  she  was  justified  in  her  sudden 
panic;  and  Miss  Matty  did  not  like  to  be  out- 
done, and  capped  every  story  with  one  yet  more 
horrible,  till  it  reminded  me,  oddly  enough,  of 
an  old  story  I  had  read  somewhere,  of  a  night- 
ingale and  a  musician,  who  strove  one  against 
the  other  which  could  produce  the  most  ad- 
mirable music,  till  poor  Philomel  dropped 
down  dead. 

One  of  the  stories  that  haunted  me  for  a  long 
time  afterward,  was  of  a  girl,  who  was  left  in 


Zbc  ipanlc.  171 

charge  of  a  great  house  in  Cumberland,  on 
some  particular  fair-day,  when  the  other  ser- 
vants all  went  off  to  the  gayeties.  The  family 
were  away  in  lyondon,  and  a  peddler  came  by, 
and  asked  to  leave  his  large  and  heavy  pack 
in  the  kitchen,  saying  he  would  call  for  it 
again  at  night;  and  the  girl  (a  gamekeeper's 
daughter),  roaming  about  in  search  of  amuse- 
ment, chanced  to  hit  upon  a  gun  hanging  up 
in  the  hall,  and  took  it  down  to  look  at  the 
chasing;  and  it  went  off  through  the  open 
kitchen  door,  hit  the  pack,  and  a  slow,  dark 
thread  of  blood  came  oozing  out.  (How  Miss 
Pole  enjoyed  this  part  of  the  story,  dwelling  on 
each  word  as  if  she  loved  it!)  She  rather 
hurried  over  the  further  account  of  the  girl's 
bravery,  and  I  have  but  a  coni"used  idea  that, 
somehow,  she  baffled  the  robbers  with  Italian 
irons,  heated  red  hot,  and  then  restored  to 
blackness  by  being  dipped  in  grease. 

We  parted  for  the  night  with  an  awe-struck 
wonder  as  to  what  we  should  hear  of  in  the 
morning — and  on  my  part,  with  a  vehement 
desire  for  the  night  to  be  over  and  gone  ;  I  was 
so  afraid  lest  the  robbers  should  have  seen, 
from  some  dark  lurking-place,  that  Miss  Pole 
had  carried  off  her  plate,  and  thus  have  a 
double  motive  for  attacking  our  house. 

But,  until  I^ady  Glenmire  came  to  call  next 
day,  we  heard  of  nothing  unusual.  The 
kitchen  fire-irons  were  in  exactly  the  same 
position  against  the  back  door,  as  when  Martha 


172  CranforJ). 

and  I  had  skilfullj-  piled  them  up  like  spilikins, 
ready  to  fall  with  an  awful  clatter  if  only  a  cat 
had  touched  the  outside  panels.  I  had  won- 
dered what  we  should  all  do  if  thus  awakened 
and  alarmed,  and  had  proposed  to  Miss  Matty 
that  we  should  cover  up  our  faces  under  the 
bedclothes,  so  that  there  should  be  no  danger 
of  the  robbers  thinking  that  we  could  identify 
them;  but  Miss  Matty,  who  was  trembling  very 
much,  scouted  this  idea,  and  said  we  owed  it 
to  society  to  apprehend  them,  and  that  she 
should  certainly  do  her  best  to  lay  hold  of 
them,  and  lock  them  up  in  the  garret  till 
morning. 

When  Lady  Glenmire  came,  we  almost  felt 
jealous  of  her.  Mrs.  Jamieson's  house  had 
really  been  attacked;  at  least  there  were  men's 
footsteps  to  be  seen  on  the  flower-borders,  un- 
derneath the  kitchen  windows,  "  where  nae 
men  should  be;"  and  Carlo  had  barked  all 
through  the  night  as  if  strangers  were  abroad. 
;Mrs.  Jamieson  had  been  awakened  by  Lady 
Glenmire,  and  the}'  had  rung  the  bell  which 
communicated  with  Mr.  Mulliner's  room  in  the 
third  story,  and  when  his  nightcapped  head 
had  appeared  over  the  banisters  in  answer  to 
the  summons,  they  had  told  him  of  their  alarm, 
and  the  reasons  for  it;  whereupon  he  retreated 
into  his  bedroom,  and  locked  the  door  (for  fear 
of  draughts,  as  he  informed  them  in  the 
morning),  and  opened  the  window,  and  called 
out  valiantly  to  say  if  the  supposed  robbers 


Cbe  panic.  173 

would  come  to  him,  he  would  fight  them;  but, 
as  L,ady  Glenmire  observed,  that  was  but  poor 
comfort,  since  they  would  have  to  pass  b)'  Mrs. 
Jamieson's  room  and  her  own  before  they  could 
reach  him,  and  must  be  of  a  ver)^  pugnacious 
disposition  indeed  if  the}'  neglected  the  oppor- 
tunities of  robbery  presented  by  the  unguarded 
lower  stories,  to  go  up  to  a  garret,  and  there 
force  a  door  in  order  to  get  at  the  champion  of 
the  house.  Lady  Glenmire,  after  waiting  and 
listening  for  some  time  in  the  drawing-room, 
had  proposed  to  Mrs.  Jamieson  that  they 
should  go  to  bed;  but  that  lady  said  she  should 
not  feel  comfortable  unless  she  sat  up  and 
watched;  and,  accordingly,  she  packed  herself 
warmly  up  on  the  sofa,  where  she  was  found 
by  the  housemaid,  when  she  came  into  the 
room  at  six  o'clock,  fast  asleep;  but  Lady 
Glenmire  went  to  bed,  and  kept  awake  all 
night. 

When  Miss  Pole  heard  of  this  she  nodded 
her  head  in  great  satisfaction.  She  had  been 
sure  we  should  hear  of  something  happening 
in  Cranford  that  night;  and  we  had  heard.  It 
was  clear  enough  they  had  first  proposed  to 
attack  her  house;  but  when  they  saw  that  she 
and  Betty  were  on  their  guard,  and  had  car- 
ried off  the  plate,  they  had  changed  their 
tactics  and  gone  to  Mrs.  Jamieson's,  and  no 
one  knew  what  might  have  happened  if  Carlo 
had  not  barked,  like  a  good  dog  as  he  was. 

Poor  Carlo!  his  barking  daj-s  were  nearly 


174 


CcanforD. 


over.  Whether  the  gang  who  infested  the 
neighborhood  were  afraid  of  him  ;  or  whether 
they  were  revengeful  enough  for  the  way  in 
which  he  had  baffled  them  on  the  night  in 
question  to  poison  him ;  or  whether,  as  some 
among  the  more  uneducated  people  thought, 
he  died  of  apoplexy,  brought  on  by  too  much 
feeding  and  too  little  exercise ;  at  any  rate,  it 
is  certain  that,  two  days  after  this  eventful 
night,  Carlo  was  found  dead,  with  his  poor 
little  legs  stretched  out  stiff  in  the  attitude  of 
running,  as  if  by  such  unusual  exertion  he 
could  escape  the  sure  pursuer.  Death. 

We  were  all  sorry  for  Carlo,  the  old  familiar 
friend  who  had  snapped  at  us  for  so  many 
years ;  and  the  mysterious  mode  of  his  death 
made  us  feel  very  uncomfortable.  Could  Sig- 
nor  Brunoni  be  at  the  bottom  of  this?  He  had 
apparently  killed  a  canary  with  only  a  word 
of  command ;  his  will  seemed  of  deadly  force  ; 
who  knew  but  what  he  might  yet  be  lingering 
in  the  neighborhood,  willing  all  sorts  of  awful 
things  ! 

We  whispered  these  fancies  among  ourselves 
in  the  evenings ;  but  in  the  mornings  our  cour- 
age came  back  with  the  daylight,  and  in  a 
week's  time  we  had  got  over  the  shock  of 
Carlo's  death — all  but  Mrs.  Jamieson.  She, 
poor  thing,  felt  it  as  she  had  felt  no  event  since 
lier  husband's  death ;  indeed  Miss  Pole  said, 
that  as  the  Honorable  Mr.  Jamieson  drank  a 
good  deal,  and  occasioned  her  much  uneasiness, 


Zbc  panic.  175 

it  was  possible  that  Carlo's  death  might  be  the 
greater  affliction.  But  there  was  always  a  tinge 
of  cynicism  in  Miss  Pole's  remarks.  However, 
one  thing  was  clear  and  certain  ;  it  was  neces- 
sary for  Mrs.  Jamieson  to  have  some  change  of 
scene ;  and  Mr.  Mulliner  was  very  impressive 
on  this  point,  shaking  his  head  whenever  we 
inquired  after  his  mistress,  and  speaking  of  her 
loss  of  appetite  and  bad  nights  very  ominously; 
and  with  justice  too,  for  if  she  had  two  charac- 
teristics in  her  natural  state  of  health,  they 
were  a  facility  of  eating  and  sleeping.  If  she 
could  neither  eat  nor  sleep,  she  must  be  indeed 
out  of  spirits  and  out  of  health. 

Lady  Glenmire  (who  had  evidently  taken 
very  kindly  to  Cranford)  did  not  like  the  idea 
of  Mrs.  Jamieson's  going  to  Cheltenham,  and 
more  than  once  insinuated  pretty  plainly  that 
it  was  Mr.  MuUiuer's  doing,  who  had  been  much 
alarmed  on  the  occasion  of  the  house  being  at- 
tacked, and  since  had  said,  more  than  once 
that  he  felt  it  a  very  responsible  charge  to  have 
to  defend  so  many  women.  Be  that  as  it  might, 
Mrs.  Jamieson  went  to  Cheltenham,  escorted 
by  Mr.  Mulliner;  and  Lady  Glenmire  remained 
in  possession  of  the  house,  her  ostensible  office 
being  to  take  care  that  the  maid-servants  did 
not  pick  up  followers.  She  made  a  very  pleas- 
ant-looking dragon  ;  and,  as  soon  as  it  was  ar- 
ranged for  her  stay  in  Cranford,  she  found  out 
that  Mrs.  Jamieson's  visit  to  Cheltenham  was 
just  the  best  thing  in  the  world.     She  had  let 


(76  Cranfot&. 

her  house  in  Edinburgh,  and  was  for  the  time 
houseless,  so  the  charge  of  her  sister-in-law's 
comfortable  abode  was  very  convenient  and 
acceptable. 

Miss  Pole  was  very  much  inclined  to  install 
herself  as  a  heroine,  because  of  the  decided 
steps  she  had  taken  in  flying  from  the  two  men 
and  one  woman,  whom  she  entitled  "that 
murderous  gang. ' '  She  described  their  appear- 
ance in  glowing  colors,  and  I  noticed  that 
every  time  she  went  over  the  storj'  some  fresh 
trait  of  villainy  was  added  to  their  appearance. 
One  was  tall — he  grew  to  be  gigantic  in  height 
before  we  had  done  with  him  ;  he,  of  course, 
had  black  hair — and  by-and-by  it  hung  in  elf- 
locks  over  his  forehead  and  down  his  back. 
The  other  was  short  and  broad — and  a  hump 
sprouted  out  on  his  shoulder  before  we  heard 
the  last  of  him  ;  he  had  red  hair — which  deep- 
ened into  carroty  ;  and  she  was  almost  sure  he 
had  a  cast  in  his  eye — a  decided  squint.  As 
for  the  woman,  her  eyes  glared,  and  she  was 
masculine-looking — a  perfect  virago ;  most 
probably  a  man  dressed  in  woman's  clothes : 
afterward  we  heard  of  a  beard  on  her  chin,  and 
a  manly  voice  and  a  stride. 

If  Miss  Pole  was  delighted  to  recount  the 
events  of  that  afternoon  to  all  inquirers,  others 
were  not  so  proud  of  their  adventures  in  the 
robbery  line.  Mr.  Hoggins,  the  surgeon,  had 
been  attacked  at  his  own  door  by  two  ruffians, 
who   were   concealed   in    the   shadow   of  the 


Cbe  panic.  777 

porch,  aud  so  effectually  silenced  him,  that  he 
was  robbed  in  the  interval  between  ringing  his 
bell  and  the  servant's  answering  it.  Miss  Pole 
was  sure  it  would  turn  out  that  this  robbery- 
had  been  committed  by  "her  men,"  and  went 
the  very  day  she  heard  of  the  report  to  have 
her  teeth  examined,  and  to  question  Mr.  Hog- 
gins. She  came  to  us  afterward  ;  so  we  heard 
what  she  had  heard,  straight  and  direct  from 
the  source,  while  we  were  yet  in  the  excite- 
ment and  flutter  of  the  agitation  caused  by  the 
first  intelligence;  for  the  event  had  only  oc- 
curred the  night  before. 

"Well!"  said  Miss  Pole,  sitting  down  with 
the  decision  of  a  person  who  had  made  up  her 
mind  as  to  the  nature  of  life  and  the  world, 
(and  such  people  never  tread  lightly,  or  seat 
themselves  without  a  bump) — "Well,  Miss 
Matty!  men  will  be  men.  Every  mother's  son 
of  them  wishes  to  be  considered  Samson  and 
Solomon  rolled  into  one — too  strong  ever  to  be 
beaten  or  discomfited — too  wise  ever  to  be  out- 
witted. If  you  will  notice,  they  have  always 
foreseen  events,  though  they  never  tell  one  for 
one's  warning  before  the  events  happen;  my 
father  was  a  man,  and  I  know  the  sex  pretty 
well." 

She  had  talked  herself  out  of  breath,  and  we 
should  have  been  very  glad  to  fill  up  the  nec- 
cessary  pause  as  chorus,  but  we  did  not  exactly 
know  what  to  say,  or  which  man  had  sug- 
gested this  diatribe  against  the  sex;  so  we  only 
12 


lyg  CranforJ). 

joined  in  generally,  with  a  grave  shake  of  the 
head,  and  a  soft  murmur  of  "  They  are  very 
incomprehensible,  certainly  !  " 

' '  Now  only  think, ' '  said  she.  ' '  There  I  have 
undergone  the  risk  of  having  one  of  my  re- 
maining teetH  drawn  (for  one  is  terribly  at  the 
mercy  of  any  surgeon-dentist;  and  I,  for  one, 
always  speak  them  fair  till  I  have  got  my 
mouth  out  of  their  clutches),  and  after  all,  Mr. 
Hoggins  is  too  much  of  a  man  to  own  that  he 
was  robbed  last  night." 

"  Not  robbed  !  "  exclaimed  the  chorus. 

"Don't  tell  me!"  Miss  Pole  exclaimed, 
angry  that  we  could  be  for  a  moment  imposed 
upon.  "  I  believe  he  was  robbed,  just  as  Betty 
told  me,  and  he  is  ashamed  to  own  it:  and,  to 
be  sure,  it  was  very  silly  of  him  to  be  robbed 
just  at  his  own  door;  and  I  dare  say  he  feels 
that  such  a  thing  won't  raise  him  in  the  eyes 
of  Cranford  society,  and  is  anxious  to  conceal 
it;  but  he  need  not  have  tried  to  impose  upon 
me,  by  saying  I  must  have  heard  an  exagger- 
ated account  of  some  petty  theft  of  a  neck  of 
mutton,  which,  it  seems,  was  stolen  out  of  the 
safe  in  his  yard  last  week;  he  had  the  imper- 
tinence to  add,  he  believed  that  that  was  taken 
by  the  cat.  I  have  no  doubt,  if  I  could  get  at 
the  bottom  of  it,  it  was  that  Irishman  dressed 
up  in  woman's  clothes,  who  came  spying  about 
my  house,  with  the  story  about  the  starving 
children." 

After  we  had  duly  condemned  the  want  of 


CTbc  panic.  179 

candor  which  Mr.  Hoggins  had  evinced,  and 
abused  men  in  general,  taking  him  for  the 
representative  and  type,  we  got  round  to  the 
subject  about  which  we  had  been  talking  when 
Miss  Pole  came  in — namely,  how  far,  in  the 
present  disturbed  state  of  the  country,  we  could 
venture  to  accept  an  invitation  which  Miss 
Matty  had  just  received  from  Mrs.  Forrester, 
to  come  as  usual  and  keep  the  anniversary  of 
her  wedding-day,  by  drinking  tea  with  her  at 
five  o'clock,  and  playing  a  quiet  pool  after- 
ward. Mrs.  Forrester  had  said  that  she  asked 
us  with  some  diffidence,  because  the  roads  were, 
she  feared,  very  unsafe.  But  she  suggested 
that  perhaps  one  of  us  would  not  object  to 
take  the  sedan;  and  that  the  others,  by  walk- 
ing briskly,  might  keep  up  with  the  long  trot 
of  the  chairmen,  and  so  we  might  all  arrive 
safely  at  Over  Place,  a  suburb  of  the  town. 
(No.  That  is  too  large  an  expression:  a  small 
cluster  of  houses  separated  from  Cranford  by 
about  two  hundred  yards  of  a  dark  and  lonely 
lane.)  There  was  no  doubt  but  that  a  similar 
note  was  awaiting  Miss  Pole  at  home;  so  her 
call  was  a  very  fortunate  affair,  as  it  enabled 
us  to  consult  together.  We  would  all  much 
rather  have  declined  this  invitation;  but  we 
felt  that  it  would  not  be  quite  kind  to  Mrs. 
Forrester,  who  would  otherwise  be  left  to  a 
solitary  retrospect  of  her  not  very  happy  or 
fortunate  life.  Miss  Matty  and  Miss  Pole  had 
been  visitors  on  this  occasion  for  many  years; 


iSo  CranforO. 

and  now  they  gallantly  determined  to  nail  their 
colors  to  the  mast,  and  to  go  through  Darkness 
Lane  rather  than  fail  in  loyalty  to  their  friend. 

But  when  the  evening  came,  Miss  Matty 
(for  it  was  she  who  was  voted  into  the  chair, 
as  she  had  a  cold),  before  being  shut  down  in 
the  sedan,  like  jack-in-a-box,  implored  the 
chairmen,  what  ever  might  befall,  not  to  run 
away  and  leave  her  fastened  up  there,  to  be 
murdered;  and  even  after  they  had  promised, 
I  saw  her  tighten  her  features  into  the  stem 
determination  of  a  martyr,  and  she  gave  me  a 
melancholy  and  ominous  shake  of  the  head 
through  the  glass.  However,  we  got  there 
safely,  only  rather  out  of  breath,  for  it  was 
who  could  trot  hardest  through  Darkness  Lane, 
and  I  am  afraid  poor  Miss  Matty  was  sadly 
jolted. 

Mrs.  Forrester  had  made  extra  preparations 
in  acknowledgment  of  our  exertion  in  coming 
to  see  her  through  such  daugers.  The  usual 
forms  of  genteel  ignorance  as  to  what  her  ser- 
vants might  send  up  were  all  gone  through; 
and  harmonj'-  and  Preference  seemed  likely  to 
be  the  order  of  the  evening,  but  for  an  interest- 
ing conversation  that  began  I  don't  know 
how,  but  which  had  relation,  of  course,  to 
the  robbers  who  infested  the  neighborhood  of 
Cranford. 

Having  braved  the  dangers  of  Darkness  Lane, 
and  thus  having  a  little  stock  of  reputation  for 
courage  to  fall  back  upon;  and  also,  I  dare  say, 


^be  panic.  i8i 

desirous  of  proving  ourselves  superior  to  men 
(videlicet  Mr.  Hoggius),  in  the  article  of  can- 
dor, we  began  to  relate  our  individual  fears,  and 
the  private  precautions  we  each  of  us  took.  I 
owned  that  my  pet  apprehension  was  eyes — 
eyes  looking  at  me,  and  watching  me,  glitter- 
ing out  from  some  dull  flat  wooden  surface; 
and  that  if  I  dared  to  go  up  to  my  looking-glass 
when  I  was  panic-stricken,  I  should  certainly 
turn  it  round,  with  its  back  toward  me,  for  fear 
of  seeing  eyes  behind  me  looking  out  of  the 
darkness.  I  saw  Miss  Matty  nerving  herself 
up  for  a  confession;  and  at  last  out  it  came. 
She  owned  that,  ever  since  she  had  been  a  girl, 
she  had  dreaded  being  caught  by  her  last  leg, 
just  as  she  was  getting  into  bed,  by  some  one 
concealed  under  the  bed.  She  said,  when  she 
was  younger  and  more  active,  she  used  to  take 
a  flying  leap  from  a  distance,  and  so  bring  both 
her  legs  up  safely  into  bed  at  once;  but  that 
this  had  always  annoyed  Deborah,  who  piqued 
herself  upon  getting  into  bed  gracefully,  and 
she  had  given  it  up  in  consequence.  But  now 
the  old  terror  would  often  come  over  her,  espe- 
cially since  Miss  Pole's  house  had  been  at- 
tacked (we  had  got  quite  to  believe  in  the  fact 
of  the  attack  having  taken  place),  and  yet  it 
was  very  unpleasant  to  think  of  looking  under 
a  bed,  and  seeing  a  man  concealed,  with  a 
great  fierce  face  staring  out  at  you;  so  she  had 
bethought  herself  of  something — perhaps  I  had 
noticed  that  she  had  told  Martha  to  buy  her  a 


1 82  CranforO. 

penny  ball,  such  as  children  play  with — and 
now  she  rolled  this  ball  under  the  bed  every 
night;  if  it  came  out  on  the  other  side,  well 
and  good;  if  not,  she  always  took  care  to  have 
her  hand  on  the  bell-rope,  and  meant  to  call 
out  John  and  Harry,  just  as  if  she  expected 
men-servants  to  answer  her  ring. 

We  all  applauded  this  ingenious  contrivance, 
and  Miss  Matty  sank  into  dignified  silence, 
with  a  look  at  Mrs.  Forrester  as  if  to  ask  for 
her  private  weakness. 

Mrs.  Forrester  looked  askance  at  Mi.ss  Pole, 
and  tried  to  change  the  subject  a  little,  by  tell- 
ing us  that  she  had  borrowed  a  boy  from  one 
of  the  neighboring  cottages,  and  promised  his 
parents  a  hundred  weight  of  coals  at  Christmas, 
and  his  supper  every  evening,  for  a  loan  of 
him  at  nights.  She  had  instructed  him  in  his 
possible  duties  when  he  first  came;  and,  finding 
him  sensible,  she  had  given  him  the  Major's 
sword  (the  Major  was  her  late  husband),  and 
desired  him  to  put  it  very  carefully  behind  his 
pillow  at  night,  turning  the  edge  toward  the 
head  of  the  pillow.  He  was  a  sharp  lad,  she 
was  sure;  for,  spying  out  the  Major's  cocked 
hat,  he  had  said,  if  he  might  have  that  to  wear 
he  was  sure  he  could  frighten  two  Englishmen 
or  four  Frenchmen,  any  day.  But  she  had  im- 
pressed upon  him  anew  that  he  was  to  lose  no 
time  in  putting  on  hats  or  anything  else;  but, 
if  he  heard  any  noise,  he  was  to  run  at  it  with 
his  drawn  sword.    On  my  suggestion  that  some 


Zbc  panic.  183 

accident  might  occur  from  such  slaughterous 
and  indiscriminate  directions,  and  that  he 
might  rush  on  Jenny  getting  up  to  wash,  and 
have  spitted  her  before  he  had  discovered  that 
she  was  not  a  Frenchman,  Mrs.  Forrester  said 
she  did  not  think  that  that  was  likely,  for  he 
was  a  very  sound  sleeper,  and  generally  had  to 
be  well  shaken,  or  cold-pigged  in  a  morning, 
before  they  could  rouse  him.  She  sometimes 
thought  such  dead  sleep  must  be  owing  to  the 
hearty  suppers  the  poor  lad  ate,  for  he  was 
half  starved  at  home,  and  she  told  Jenny  to  see 
that  he  got  a  good  meal  at  night. 

Still  this  was  no  confession  of  Mrs.  Forrester's 
peculiar  timidity,  and  we  urged  her  to  tell  us 
what  she  thought  would  frighten  her  more  than 
anything.  She  paused,  and  stirred  the  fire, 
and  snuffed  the  candles,  and  then  she  said,  in 
a  sounding  whisper: 

"Ghosts!" 

She  looked  at  Miss  Pole,  as  much  as  to  say 
she  had  declared  it,  and  would  stand  by  it. 
Such  a  look  was  a  challenge  in  itself.  Miss 
Pole  came  down  upon  her  with  indigestion, 
spectral  illusions,  optical  delusions,  and  a  great 
deal  out  of  Dr.  Ferrier  and  Dr.  Hibbert  besides. 
Miss  Matty  had  rather  a  leaning  to  ghosts,  as  1 
have  said  before,  and  what  little  she  did  say, 
was  all  on  Mrs.  Forrester's  side,  who,  embold- 
ened by  sympathy,  protested  that  ghosts  were 
a  part  of  her  religion;  that  surely  she,  the 
widow  of  a  major  in  the  army,  knew  what  to 


1 84  CranforJ). 


be  frightened  at,  and  what  not;  in  short,  I 
never  saw  Mrs.  Forrester  so  warm  either  before 
or  since,  for  she  was  a  gentle,  meek,  enduring 
old  lady  in  most  things.  Not  all  the  elder 
wine  that  ever  was  mulled,  could  this  night 
wash  out  the  remembrance  of  this  difference 
between  Miss  Pole  and  her  hostess.  Indeed, 
when  the  elder  wine  was  brought  in,  it  gave 
rise  to  a  new  burst  of  discussion;  for  Jenny,  the 
little  maiden  who  staggered  under  the  tray, 
had  to  give  evidence  of  having  seen  a  ghost 
with  her  own  eyes,  not  so  many  nights  ago,  in 
Darkness  Lane — the  very  lane  we  were  to  go 
through  on  our  way  home. 

In  spite  of  the  uncomfortable  feeling  w-hich 
this  last  consideration  gave  me,  I  could  not 
help  being  amused  at  Jenny's  position,  which 
was  exceedingly  like  that  of  a  witness  being 
examined  and  cross-examined  by  two  counsel 
who  are  not  at  all  scrupulous  about  asking  lead- 
ing questions.  The  conclusion  I  arrived  at  was, 
that  Jenny  had  certainly  seen  something  be- 
yond what  a  fit  of  indigestion  would  have 
caused.  A  lady  all  in  white,  and  without  her 
head,  was  what  she  deposed  and  adhered  to, 
supported  by  a  consciousness  of  the  secret 
sympathy  of  her  mistress  under  the  withering 
scorn  with  which  Miss  Pole  regarded  her.  And 
not  only  she,  but  many  others,  had  seen  this 
headless  lady,  who  sat  by  the  roadside  wringing 
her  hands  as  in  deep  grief.  Mrs.  Forrester 
looked  at  us  from  time  to  time,  with  an  air  of 


Zbe  panfc.  185 

conscious  triumpli;  but  then  she  had  not  to 
pass  through  Darkness  Lane  before  she  could 
bury  herself  beneath  her  own  familiar  bed- 
clothes. 

We  preserved  a  discreet  silence  as  to  the 
headless  lady  while  we  were  putting  on  our 
things  to  go  home,  for  there  was  no  knowing 
how  near  the  ghostly  head  and  ears  might  be, 
or  what  spiritual  connection  they  might  be 
keeping  up  with  the  unhappy  body  in  Dark- 
ness Lane;  and,  therefore,  even  Miss  Pole  felt 
that  it  was  as  well  not  to  speak  lightly  on  such 
subjects,  for  fear  of  vexing  or  insulting  that 
wobegone  trunk.  At  least,  so  I  conjecture; 
for,  instead  of  the  busy  clatter  usual  in  the 
operation,  we  tied  on  our  cloaks  as  sadly  as 
mutes  at  a  funeral.  Miss  Matty  drew  the  cur- 
tains round  the  windows  of  the  chair  to  shut 
out  disagreeable  sights;  and  the  men  (either 
because  they  were  in  spirits  that  their  labors 
were  so  nearly  ended,  or  because  they  were 
going  down  hill)  set  off  at  such  a  round  and 
merry  pace,  that  it  was  all  Miss  Pole  and  I 
could  do  to  keep  up  with  them.  She  had 
breath  for  nothing  beyond  an  imploring  "  Don't 
leave  me  !  "  uttered  as  she  clutched  my  arm  so 
tightly  that  I  could  not  have  quitted  her,  ghost 
or  no  ghost.  What  a  relief  it  was  when  the 
men,  weary  of  their  burden  and  their  quick 
trot,  stopped  just  where  Headingley  Causeway 
branches  off  from  Darkness  Lane  !  Miss  Pole 
unloosed  me  and  caught  at  one  of  the  men. 


1 86  CrantorD. 

"Could  not  you — could  not  you  take  Miss 
Matty  round  by  Headingley  Causeway — the 
pavement  in  Darkness  Ivane  jolts  so,  and  she 
is  not  very  strong  ?  ' ' 

A  smothered  voice  was  heard  from  the  in- 
side of  the  chair: 

"Oh!  pray  go  on!  what  is  the  matter? 
What  is  the  matter  ?  I  will  give  you  sixpence 
more  to  go  on  very  fast;  pray  do  not  stop 
here!" 

"And  I  will  give  you  a  shilling,"  said  Miss 
Pole,  with  tremulous  dignity,  "if  you  '11  go 
by  Headingley  Causeway." 

The  two  men  grunted  acquiescence,  and 
took  up  the  chair  and  went  along  the  cause- 
way, which  certainly  answered  Miss  Pole's 
kind  purpose  of  saving  Miss  Matty's  bones; 
for  it  was  covered  with  soft,  thick  mud,  and 
even  a  fall  there  would  have  been  easy,  till 
the  getting  up  came,  when  there  might  have 
been  some  diflficulty  in  extrication. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


SAMUEL  BROWN, 


THE  next  morning  I  met  Lady  Glenmire 
and  Miss  Pole,  setting  out  on  a  long  walk 
to  find  some  old  woman  who  was  famous  in 
the  neighborhood  for  her  skill  in  knitting 
woollen  stockings.  Miss  Pole  said  to  me,  with 
a  vSmile  half-kindly  and  half-contemptuous 
upon  her  countenance:  "  I  have  been  just  tell- 
ing Lady  Glenmire  of  our  poor  friend  Mrs. 
Forrester,  and  her  terror  of  ghosts.  It  comes 
from  living  so  much  alone,  and  listening  to  the 
bugaboo  stories  of  that  Jenny  of  hers."  She 
was  so  calm  and  so  much  above  superstitious 
fears  herself  that  I  was  almost  ashamed  to  say 
how  glad  I  had  been  of  her  Headingley  Cause- 
way proposition  the  night  before,  and  turned 
oflf  the  conversation  to  something  else. 

In  the  afternoon  Miss  Pole  called  on  Miss 
Matty  to  tell  her  of  the  adventure — the  real 
adventure  they  had  met  with  on  their  morn- 
ing's walk.  They  had  been  perplexed  about 
the  exact  path  which  they  were  to  take  across 
the  fields,  in  order  to  find  the  knitting  old 
woman,  and  had  stopped  to  inquire  at  a  little 
wayside  public  house,  standing  on  the  high 
road  to  London,  about  three  miles  from  Cran- 
(i87) 


1 88  CranforD. 

ford.  The  good  woman  had  asked  them  to  sit 
down  and  rest  themselves,  while  she  fetched 
her  husband,  who  could  direct  them  better 
than  she  could;  and,  while  they  were  sitting 
in  the  sanded  parlor,  a  little  girl  came  in. 
They  thought  that  she  belonged  to  the  land- 
lady, and  began  some  trifling  conversation 
with  her;  but,  on  Mrs.  Roberts'  return,  she 
told  them  that  the  little  thing  was  the  only 
child  of  a  couple  who  were  staying  in  the 
house.  And  then  she  began  a  long  story,  out 
of  which  Lady  Glenmire  and  Miss  Pole  could 
only  gather  one  or  two  decided  facts;  which 
were  that,  about  six  weeks  ago,  a  light  spring- 
cart  had  broken  down  just  before  their  door, 
in  which  there  were  two  men,  one  woman,  and 
this  child.  One  of  the  men  was  seriously  hurt 
— no  bones  broken,  only  "shaken,"  the  land- 
lady called  it;  but  he  had  probably  sustained 
some  severe  internal  injury,  for  he  had 
languished  in  their  house  ever  since,  attended 
by  his  wife,  the  mother  of  this  little  girl. 
Miss  Pole  had  asked  what  he  was,  what  he 
looked  like.  And  Mrs.  Roberts  had  made  an- 
swer that  he  was  not  like  a  gentleman,  nor  3'et 
like  a  common  person;  if  it  had  not  been  that 
he  and  his  wife  were  such  decent,  quiet  people, 
she  could  almost  have  thought  he  was  a  mounte- 
bank, or  something  of  that  kind,  for  they  had 
a  great  box  in  the  cart,  full  of  she  did  not  know 
what.  She  had  helped  to  unpack  it,  and  take 
out  their  linen  and  clothes,  when  the  other 


Samuel  JScown.  189 

man — his  twin-brother,  she  believed  he  was — 
had  gone  off  with  the  horse  and  cart. 

Miss  Pole  had  begun  to  have  her  suspicions 
at  this  point,  and  expressed  her  idea  that  it 
was  rather  strange  that  the  box,  the  cart,  and 
horse  and  all,  should  have  disappeared;  but 
good  Mrs.  Roberts  seemed  to  have  become 
quite  indignant  at  Miss  Pole's  implied  sugges- 
tion; in  fact.  Miss  Pole  said  she  was  as  angry 
as  if  Miss  Pole  had  told  her  that  she  herself 
was  a  swindler.  As  the  best  way  of  convincing 
the  ladies,  she  bethought  her  of  begging  them 
to  see  the  wife;  and,  as  Miss  Pole  said,  there 
was  no  doubting  the  honest,  worn,  bronze  face 
of  the  woman,  who,  at  the  first  tender  word 
from  Lady  Glenmire,  burst  into  tears,  which  she 
was  too  weak  to  check,  until  some  word  from 
the  landlady  made  her  swallow  down  her  sobs, 
in  order  that  she  might  testify  to  the  Chris- 
tian kindness  shown  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Roberts. 
Miss  Pole  came  round  with  a  swing  to  as  ve- 
hement a  belief  in  the  sorrowful  tale  as  she  had 
been  skeptical  before  ;  and,  as  a  proof  of  this, 
her  energy  in  the  poor  sufferer's  behalf  was 
nothing  daunted  when  she  found  out  that  he, 
and  no  other,  was  our  Signer  Brunoni,  to  whom 
all  Cranford  had  been  attributing  all  manner  of 
evil  this  six  weeks  past!  Yes!  his  wife  said 
his  proper  name  was  Samuel  Brown — "  Sam," 
she  called  him — but  to  the  last  we  preferred 
calling  him  "  the  Signor:"  it  sounded  so  much 
better. 


IQO 


CrantorD, 


The  end  of  their  conversation  with  the  Sig* 
nora  Bruuoui  was,  that  it  was  agreed  that  he 
should  be  placed  under  medical  advice,  and  for 
any  expense  incurred  in  procuring  this  lyady 
Glenmire  promised  to  hold  herself  responsi- 
ble, and  had  accordingly  gone  to  Mr.  Hoggins 
to  beg  him  to  ride  over  to  the  Rising  Sun  that 
very  afternoon,  and  examine  into  the  signor's 
real  state;  and  as  Miss  Pole  said,  if  it  was 
desirable  to  remove  him  to  Cranford,  to  be 
more  immediately  under  Mr.  Hoggins'  eye, 
she  would  undertake  to  see  for  lodgings,  and 
arrange  about  the  rent.  Mrs.  Roberts  had  been 
as  kind  as  could  be  all  throughout,  but  it  was 
evadent  that  their  long  residence  there  had  been 
a  slight  inconvenience. 

Before  Miss  Pole  left  us,  Miss  Matty  and  I 
were  as  full  of  the  morning's  adventure  as  she 
was.  We  talked  about  it  all  the  evening, 
turning  it  in  ever}'  possible  light,  and  we  went 
to  bed  anxious  for  the  morning,  when  we 
should  surely  hear  from  some  one  what  Mr. 
Hoggins  thought  and  recommended.  For,  as 
Miss  Matty  observed,  though  Mr,  Hoggins  did 
say  "Jack's  up,"  "  a  fig  for  his  heels,"  and  call 
Preference  ' '  Pref, ' '  she  believed  he  was  a  verj^ 
worthy  man.  and  a  very  clever  surgeon.  In- 
deed, we  were  rather  proud  of  our  doctor  at 
Cranford,  as  a  doctor.  We  often  wished,  when 
we  heard  of  Queen  Adelaide  or  the  Duke  of 
Wellington  being  ill,  that  they  would  send  for 
Mr.  Hoggins;  but,  on  consideration,  we  were 


i 


Samuel  :fi5rown. 


191 


rather  glad  tbey  did  not,  for  if  we  were  ailing, 
what  should  we  do  if  Mr.  Hoggins  had  been 
appointed  physician  in  ordinary  to  the  royal 
family  ?  As  a  surgeon  we  were  proud  of  him, 
but  as  a  man — or  rather,  I  should  say,  as  a 
gentleman — we  could  only  shake  our  heads 
over  his  name  and  himself,  and  wished  that  he 
had  read  Lord  Chesterfield's  Letters  in  the 
days  when  his  manners  were  susceptible  of 
improvement.  Nevertheless,  we  all  regarded 
his  dictum  in  the  signor's  case  as  infallible; 
and  when  he  said  that  with  care  and  attention 
he  might  rally,  we  had  no  more  fear  for  him. 
But,  although  we  had  no  more  fear,  every- 
body did  as  much  as  if  there  was  great  cause 
for  anxiety — as  indeed  there  was,  until  Mr. 
Hoggins  took  charge  of  him.  Miss  Pole  looked 
out  clean  and  comfortable,  if  homely,  lodgings; 
Miss  Matty  sent  the  sedan  chair  for  him;  and 
Martha  and  I  aired  it  well  before  it  left  Cran- 
ford,  by  holding  a  warming-pan  full  of  red-hot 
coals  in  it,  and  then  shutting  it  up  close,  smoke 
and  all,  until  the  time  when  he  should  get  into 
it  at  the  Rising  Sun.  Lady  Glenmire  under- 
took the  medical  department  under  Mr.  Hog- 
gins' directions;  and  rummaged  up  all  Mrs. 
Jamieson's  medicine  glasses,  and  spoons,  and 
bed-tables,  in  a  free-and-easy  way,  that  made 
Miss  Matty  feel  a  little  anxious  as  to  what  that 
lady  and  Mr.  Mulliner  might  say,  if  they  knew, 
Mrs.  Forrester  made  some  of  the  bread-jelly  for 
which  she  was  so  famous,  to  have  ready  as  a 


192  CranforJ). 

refreshment  in  the  lodgings  when  he  should 
arrive.  A  present  of  this  bread-jelly  was  the 
highest  mark  of  favor  dear  Mrs.  Forrester  could 
confer.  Miss  Pole  had  once  asked  her  for  the 
receipt,  but  she  had  met  with  a  ver}--  decided 
rebuff;  that  lady  told  her  that  she  could  not 
part  with  it  to  anyone  during  her  life,  and  that 
after  her  death  it  was  bequeathed,  as  her  ex- 
ecutors would  find,  to  Miss  Matty.  What  Miss 
Matty — or,  as  Mrs.  Forrester  called  her  (remem- 
bering the  clause  in  her  will  and  the  dignity 
of  the  occasion)  Miss  Matilda  Jenkyns — might 
choose  to  do  with  the  receipt  when  it  came  in- 
to her  possession — whether  to  make  it  public, 
or  to  hand  it  down  as  an  heirloom — she  did 
not  know,  nor  would  she  dictate.  And  a 
mould  of  this  admirable,  digestible,  unique 
bread-jelly  was  sent  by  Mrs.  Forrester  to  our 
poor  sick  conjurer.  Who  says  that  the  aris- 
tocracy are  proud?  Here  was  a  lady,  by 
birth  a  Tyrrell,  and  descended  from  the  great 
Sir  Walter  that  shot  King  Rufus,  and  in  whose 
veins  ran  the  blood  of  him  who  murdered  the 
little  princes  in  the  Tower,  going  every  day  to 
see  what  dainty  dishes  she  could  prepare  for 
Samuel  Brown,  a  mountebank!  But,  indeed, 
it  was  wonderful  to  see  what  kind  feelings 
were  called  out  by  this  poor  man's  coming 
among  us.  And  also  wonderful  to  see  how 
the  great  Cranford  panic,  which  had  been  oc- 
casioned by  his  first  coming  in  his  Turkish 
dress,  melted  away  into  thin  air  on  his  second 


Samuel  36rovvn.  193 

coming — pale  and  feeble,  and  with  his  heavy, 
filmy  eyes,  that  only  brightened  a  very  little 
when  they  fell  upon  the  countenance  of  his 
faithful  wife,  or  their  pale  and  sorrowful  little 
girl. 

Somehow,  we  all  forgot  to  be  afraid.  I  dare 
say  it  was,  that  finding  out  that  he,  who  had 
first  excited  our  love  of  the  marvellous  by  his 
unprecedented  arts,  had  not  sufficient  every- 
day gifts  to  manage  a  shying  horse,  made  us 
feel  as  if  we  were  ourselves  again.  Miss  Pole 
came  with  her  little  basket  at  all  hours  of  the 
evening,  as  if  her  lonely  house,  and  the  unfre- 
quented road  to  it,  had  never  been  infested  by 
that  ' '  murderous  gang. ' '  Mrs.  Forrester  said 
she  thought  that  neither  Jenny  nor  she  need 
mind  the  headless  lady  who  wept  and  wailed 
in  Darkness  Lane,  for  surely  the  power  was 
never  given  to  such  beings  to  harm  those  who 
went  about  to  try  to  do  what  little  good  was  in 
their  power;  to  which  Jenny,  trembling,  as- 
sented; but  the  mistress'  theory  had  little  ef 
feet  on  the  maid's  practice,  until  she  had 
sewed  two  pieces  of  red  flannel,  in  the  shape 
of  a  cross,  on  her  inner  garment. 

I  found  Miss  Matty  covering  her  penny  ball 
— the  ball  that  she  used  to  roll  under  her  bed 
— with  gay-colored  worsted  in  rainbow  stripes. 

"  My  dear,"  said  she,  "my  heart  is  sad  for 

that   little   care-worn   child.      Although    her 

father  is  a  conjurer,  she  looks  as  if  she  had 

never  had  a  good  game  of  play  iu  her  life. 

13 


194  Cranfor&. 

I  used  to  make  very  pretty  balls  in  this  way 
when  I  was  a  girl,  and  I  thought  I  would  try 
if  I  could  not  make  this  one  smart,  and  take 
it  to  Phoebe  this  afternoon.  I  think  '  the 
gang'  must  have  left  the  neighborhood,  for 
one  does  not  hear  any  more  of  their  violence 
and  robbery  now." 

We  were  all  of  us  far  too  full  of  the  signor's 
precarious  state  to  talk  about  either  robbers  or 
ghosts.  Indeed,  Lady  Glenmire  said,  she 
never  had  heard  of  any  actual  robberies;  ex- 
cept that  two  little  boys  had  stolen  some 
apples  from  Farmer  Benson's  orchard,  and  that 
some  eggs  had  been  missed  on  a  market-day 
off  Widow  Hayward's  stall.  But  that  was 
expecting  too  much  of  us;  we  could  not  ac- 
knowledge that  we  had  only  had  this  small 
foundation  for  all  our  panic.  Miss  Pole  drew 
herself  up  at  this  remark  of  Lady  Glenmire's; 
and  said  "that  she  wished  she  could  agree 
with  her  as  to  the  very  small  reason  we  had 
had  for  alarm;  but,  with  the  recollection  of  a 
man  disguised  as  a  woman,  who  had  endeav- 
ored to  force  herself  into  her  house,  while  his 
confederates  waited  outside;  with  the  knowl- 
edge gained  from  Lady  Glenmire  herself,  of 
the  footprints  seen  on  Mrs.  Jamieson's  flower- 
borders;  with  the  fact  before  her  of  the 
audacious  robbery  committed  on  Mr.  Hoggins 
at  his  own  door — ' '  But  here  Lady  Glenmire 
broke  in  with  a  very  strong  expression  of 
doubt  as  to  whether  this  last  story  was  not  an 


Samuel  :JScown. 


195 


entire  fabrication,  founded  upon  the  theft  of  a 
cat;  she  grew  so  red  while  she  was  saying  all 
this,  that  I  was  not  surprised  at  Miss  Pole's 
manner  of  bridling  up,  and  I  am  certain,  if 
Lady  Glenmire  had  not  been  "  her  ladyship," 
we  should  have  had  a  more  emphatic  contra- 
diction than  the  "Well,  to  be  sure!"  and  sim- 
ilar fragmentary  ejaculations,  which  were  all 
that  she  ventured  upon  in  my  lady's  presence. 
But  when  she  was  gone.  Miss  Pole  began  a 
long  congratulation  to  Miss  Matty  that  so  far 
they  had  escaped  marriage,  which  she  noticed 
always  made  people  credulous  to  the  last  de- 
gree; indeed,  she  thought  it  argued  great 
natural  credulity  in  a  woman  if  she  could  not 
keep  herself  from  being  married;  and  in  what 
Lady  Glenmire  had  said  about  Mr.  Hoggins' 
robbery,  we  had  a  specimen  of  what  people 
came  to  if  they  gave  waj'  to  such  weakness; 
evidently,  Lady  Glenmire  would  swallow  any- 
thing, if  she  could  believe  the  poor  vamped- 
up-story  about  a  neck  of  mutton  and  a  pussy, 
with  which  he  had  tried  to  impose  on  Miss 
Pole,  only  she  had  always  been  on  her  guard 
against  believing  too  much  of  what  men  said. 
We  were  thankful,  as  Miss  Pole  desired  us 
to  be,  that  we  had  never  been  married;  but  I 
think  of  the  two,  we  were  even  more  thankful 
that  the  robbers  had  left  Cranford;  at  least  I 
judge  so  from  a  speech  of  Miss  Matty's  that 
evening,  as  we  sat  over  the  fire,  in  which  she 
evidently  looked  upon  a  husband  as  a  great 


196  CranforO. 

protector  against  thieves,  burglars,  and  ghosts; 
and  said  that  she  did  not  think  that  she  should 
dare  to  be  always  warning  young  people  of 
matrimony,  as  Miss  Pole  did  continually — to 
be  sure,  marriage  was  a  risk,  as  she  saw  now 
she  had  had  some  experience;  but  she  remem- 
bered the  time  when  she  had  looked  forward  to 
being  married  as  much  as  any  one. 

"Not  to  any  particular  person,  my  dear," 
said  she,  hastily  checking  herself  up,  as  if  she 
were  afraid  of  having  admitted  too  much ; 
"only  the  old  story,  you  know,  of  ladies  al- 
ways saying  '  Whe7i  I  marry,'  and  gentlemen, 
^I/l  marry.'  "  It  was  a  joke  spoken  in  rather 
a  sad  tone,  and  I  doubt  if  either  of  us  smiled; 
but  I  could  not  see  Miss  Matty's  face  by  the 
flickering  fire-light.  In  a  little  while  she  con- 
tinued: 

* '  But,  after  all,  I  have  not  told  you  the  truth. 
It  is  so  long  ago,  and  no  one  ever  knew  how 
much  I  thought  of  it  at  the  time,  unless,  indeed, 
my  dear  mother  guessed;  but  I  may  say  that 
there  was  a  time  when  I  did  not  think  I  should 
have  been  only  Miss  Matty  Jenkyus  all  my  life; 
for  even  if  I  did  meet  with  anj'  one  who  wished 
to  marry  me  now  (and  as  Miss  Pole  saj's,  one 
is  never  too  safe),  I  could  not  take  him — I 
hope  he  would  not  take  it  too  much  to  heart, 
but  I  could  not  take  him — or  any  one  but  the 
person  I  once  thought  I  should  be  married  to, 
and  he  is  dead  and  gone,  and  he  never  knew 
how  it  all  came  about  that  I  said  'No,'  when  I 


Samuel  asrown.  197 

had  thought  many  and  many  a  time — well,  it's 
no  matter  what  I  thought.  God  ordains  it  all, 
and  I  am  very  happy,  my  dear.  No  one  has 
such  kind  friends  as  I,"  continued  she,  taking 
my  hand  and  holding  it  in  hers. 

If  I  had  never  known  of  Mr.  Holbrook,  I 
could  have  said  something  in  this  pause;  but 
as  I  had,  I  could  not  think  of  anything  that 
would  come  in  naturally,  and  so  we  both  kept 
silence  for  a  little  time. 

' '  My  Hither  once  made  us, ' '  she  began,  '  'keep 
a  diary  in  two  columns;  on  one  side  we  were 
to  put  down  in  the  morning  what  we  thought 
would  be  the  course  and  events  of  the  coming 
day,  and  at  night  we  were  to  put  down  on  the 
other  side  what  really  had  happened.  It  would 
be  to  some  people  rather  a  bad  way  of  telling 
their  lives" — (a  tear  dropped  upon  my  hand  at 
these  words) — "I  don't  mean  that  mine  has 
been  sad,  only  so  very  different  to  what  I  ex- 
pected. I  remember,  one  winter's  evening, 
sitting  over  our  bedroom  fire  with  Deborah — I 
remember  it  as  if  it  were  yesterday — and  we 
were  planning  our  future  lives — both  of  us 
were  planning,  though  only  she  talked  about 
it.  She  said  she  should  like  to  marry  an  arch- 
deacon, and  write  his  charges;  and  you  know, 
my  dear,  she  never  was  married,  and,  for 
aught  I  know,  she  never  spoke  to  an  unmarried 
archdeacon  in  her  life.  I  never  was  ambitious, 
nor  could  I  have  written  charges,  but  1 
thought  I  could  manage  a  house  (my  mother 


198  CrantorD. 

used  to  call  me  her  right  hand),  and  I  was  al- 
ways so  fond  of  little  children — the  shyest 
babies  would  stretch  out  their  little  arms  to 
come  to  me — when  I  was  a  girl,  I  was  half  my 
leisure  time  nursing  in  the  neighboring  cot- 
tages; but  I  don't  know  how  it  was,  when  I 
grew  sad  and  grave — which  I  did  a  year  or 
two  after  this  time — the  little  things  drew 
back  from  me,  and  I  am  afraid  I  lost  the 
knack,  though  I  am  just  as  fond  of  children  as 
ever,  and  have  a  strange  yearning  at  my  heart 
whenever  I  see  a  mother  with  her  baby  in  her 
arms.  Nay,  my  dear — "  (and  by  a  sudden 
blaze  which  sprang  up  from  a  fall  of  the  un- 
stirred coals,  I  saw  that  her  eyes  were  full  of 
tears — gazing  intently  on  some  vision  of  what 
might  have  been) — "do  you  know,  I  dream 
sometimes  that  I  have  a  little  child — always 
the  same — a  little  girl  of  about  two  years  old; 
she  never  grows  older,  though  I  have  dreamed 
about  her  for  many  years-  I  don't  think  I 
ever  dream  of  any  words  or  sound  she  makes; 
she  is  very  noiseless  and  still;  but  she  comes  to 
me  when  she  is  very  sorry  or  very  glad,  and  I 
have  wakened  with  the  clasp  of  her  dear  little 
arms  round  my  neck.  Only  last  night — per- 
fiaps  becau.se  I  had  gone  to  sleep  thinking  of 
(his  ball  for  Phoebe — my  little  darling  came  in 
uy  dream,  and  put  up  her  mouth  to  be  ki.ssed, 
just  as  I  have  seen  real  babies  do  to  real 
iiothers  before  going  to  bed.  But  all  this  is 
10n.sen.4e,  dear! — only  don't   be  frightened  by 


Samuel  :ierown.  199 


Miss  Pole  from  being  married.  I  can  fancy  it 
may  be  a  very  happy  state,  and  a  little  cred- 
ulity helps  one  on  through  life  very  smoothly 
• — better  than  always  doubting  and  doubting, 
and  seeing  difficulties  and  disagreeables  in 
everything." 

If  I  had  been  inclined  to  be  daunted  from 
matrimony,  it  would  not  have  been  Miss  Pole 
to  do  it;  it  would  have  been  the  lot  of  poor 
Signor  Brunoni  and  his  wife.  And  yet  again, 
it  was  an  encouragement  to  see  how,  through 
all  their  cares  and  sorrows,  they  thought  of 
each  other  and  not  of  themselves;  and  how 
keen  were  their  joys,  if  they  only  passed 
through  each  other,  or  through  the  little 
Phoebe. 

The  signora  told  me,  one  day,  a  good  deal 
about  their  lives  up  to  this  period.  It  began  by 
my  asking  her  whether  Miss  Pole's  story  of  the 
twin-brothers  was  true;  it  .sounded  so  wonder- 
ful a  likeness,  that  I  should  have  had  my 
doubts,  if  Miss  Pole  had  not  been  unmarried. 
But  the  signora,  or  (as  we  found  out  she  pre- 
ferred to  be  called)  Mrs.  Brown,  said  it  was 
quite  true;  that  her  brother-in-law  was  by  many 
taken  for  her  husband,  which  was  of  great  as- 
sistance to  them  in  their  profession;  "  though," 
she  continued,  "how  people  can  mistake 
Thomas  for  the  real  Signor  Brunoni,  I  can't 
conceive;  but  he  says  they  do,  so  I  suppose  I 
must  believe  him.  Not  but  what  he  is  a  very 
good  man;  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  how  we 


200  GranforJ). 

should  have  paid  our  bills  at  the  Rising  Sun, 
but  for  the  money  he  sends;  but  people  must 
know  very  little  about  art,  if  they  can  take  hira 
for  my  husband.  Why,  Miss,  in  the  ball  trick 
where  my  husband  spreads  his  fingers  wide, 
and  throws  out  his  little  finger  with  quite  an 
air  and  a  grace,  Thomas  just  clumps  up  his 
hand  like  a  fist,  and  might  have  ever  so  many 
balls  hidden  in  it.  Besides,  he  has  never  been 
in  India,  and  knows  nothing  of  the  proper  sit 
of  a  turban." 

"  Have  you  been  in  India?"  said  I,  rather 
astonished. 

"  Oh,  yes!  many  a  year,  ma'am.  Sam  was  a 
sergeant  in  the  31st;  and  when  the  regiment 
was  ordered  to  India,  I  drew  a  lot  to  go,  and  I 
was  more  thankful  than  I  can  tell;  for  it  seemed 
as  if  it  would  only  be  a  slow  death  to  me  to 
part  from  ray  husband.  But,  indeed,  ma'am, 
if  I  had  known  all,  I  don't  know  whether 
I  would  not  rather  have  died  there  and  then, 
than  gone  through  what  I  have  done  since. 
To  be  sure,  I've  been  able  to  comfort  Sara,  and 
to  be  with  him;  but,  ma'am,  I've  lost  six  chil- 
dren," said  she,  looking  up  at  me  with  those 
strange  eyes,  that  I  have  never  noticed  but  in 
mothers  of  dead  children — with  a  kind  of  wild 
look  in  them,  as  if  seeking  for  what  they  never 
more  might  find.  "  Yes!  six  children  died  ofi^, 
like  little  buds  nipped  untimely,  in  that  cruel 
India.  I  thought,  as  each  died,  I  never  could 
—I  never  would  love  a  child  again;  and  when 


Samuel  JBrown.  201 


the  next  came,  it  had  not  only  its  own  love, 
but  the  deeper  love  that  came  from  the  thoughts 
of  its  little  dead  brothers  and  sisters.  And 
when  Phoebe  was  coming,  I  said  to  my  hus- 
band: '  Sam,  when  the  child  is  born,  and  I  am 
strong,  I  shall  leave  you;  it  will  cut  my  heart 
cruel;  but  if  this  baby  dies  too,  I  shall  go  mad; 
the  madness  is  in  me  now;  but  if  you  will  let 
me  go  down  to  Calcutta,  carrying  my  baby  step 
by  step,  it  will,  may-be,  work  itself  oflf;  and  I 
will  save,  and  I  will  hoard,  and  I  will  beg — 
and  I  will  die,  to  get  a  passage  home  to  Eng- 
land, where  our  baby  may  live!'  God  bless 
him!  he  said  I  might  go;  and  he  saved  up  his 
pay,  and  I  saved  every  pice  I  could  get  for 
washing  or  any  way;  and  when  Phcebe  came, 
and  I  grew  strong  again,  I  set  off.  It  was  very 
lonely;  through  the  thick  forests,  dark  again 
with  their  heavy  trees — along  by  the  rivers' 
side — (but  I  had  been  brought  up  near  the 
Avon  in  Warwickshire,  so  that  flowing  noise 
sounded  like  home).  From  station  to  station, 
from  Indian  village  to  village,  I  went  along, 
carrj'ing  my  child.  I  had  seen  one  of  the  offi- 
cers' ladies  with  a  little  picture,  ma'am — done 
by  a  Catholic  foreigner,  ma'am — of  the  Virgin 
and  the  little  Saviour,  ma'am.  She  had  him 
on  her  arm,  and  her  form  was  softly  curled  round 
him,  and  their  cheeks  touched.  Well  when  I 
went  to  bid  good-by  to  this  lady,  for  whom  I 
had  washed,  she  cried  sadly;  for  she,  too,  had 
lost   her   children,   but  she   bad   not   another 


202  arantorO. 

to  save,  like  me;  and  I  was  bold  enough  to  ask 
her,  would  she  give  me  that  print  ?  And  she 
cried  the  more,  aud  said  ^^r  children  were  with 
that  little  blessed  Jesus;  and  gave  it  me;  and 
told  me  she  had  heard  it  had  been  painted  on 
the  bottom  of  a  cask,  which  made  it  have  that 
round  shape.  And  when  my  body  was  very 
weary  and  my  heart  was  sick — (for  there  were 
times  when  I  misdoubted  if  I  could  ever  reach 
my  home,  and  there  were  times  when  I  thought 
of  my  husband;  and  one  time  when  I  thought 
my  baby  was  djdng) — I  took  out  that  picture 
and  looked  at  it,  till  I  could  have  thought  the 
mother  spoke  to  me,  and  comforted  me.  And 
the  natives  were  very  kind.  We  could  not  un- 
derstand one  another;  but  they  saw  my  baby 
on  my  breast,  and  they  came  out  to  me,  and 
brought  me  rice  and  milk,  and  sometimes  flow- 
ers— I  have  got  some  of  the  flowers  dried. 
Then,  the  next  morning,  I  was  so  tired  !  and 
they  wanted  me  to  stay  with  them — I  could  tell 
that — and  tried  to  frighten  me  from  going  into 
the  deep  woods,  which,  indeed,  looked  very 
strange  and  dark;  but  it  seemed  to  me  as  if 
Death  was  following  me  to  take  my  baby  awaj 
from  me;  and  as  if  I  must  go  on,  and  on — and 
I  thought  how  God  had  cared  for  mothers  ever 
since  the  world  was  made,  and  would  care  for 
me;  so  I  bade  them  good-by,  and  set  off  afresh. 
And  once- when  my  baby  was  ill,  and  both  she 
and  I  needed  rest,  he  led  .me  to  a  place  where 
I  found  a  kind  Englishman  lived,  right  in  the 
midst  of  the  natives." 


Samuel  asrown. 


203 


"  And  you  reached  Calcutta  safely  at  last?" 

"  Yes!  safely.  Oh!  when  I  knew  I  had  only 
two  days'  journey  more  before  me,  I  could  not 
help  it,  ma'am — it  might  be  idolatry,  I  cannot 
tell — but  I  was  near  one  of  the  native  temples 
and  I  went  in  it  with  my  babe  to  thank  God 
for  his  great  mercy;  for  it  seemed  to  me  that 
where  others  had  prayed  before  to  their  God, 
in  their  joy  or  in  their  agony,  was  of  itself  a 
sacred  place.  And  I  got  as  servant  to  an  inva- 
lid lad}^,  who  grew  quite  fond  of  my  baby 
aboard  ship;  and  in  two  years'  time  Sam 
earned  his  discharge,  and  came  home  to  me 
and  to  our  child.  Then  he  had  to  fix  on  a 
trade,  but  he  knew  of  none;  and  once,  once 
upon  a  time,  he  had  learned  some  tricks  from 
an  Indian  juggler,  so  he  set  up  conjuring,  and 
it  answered  so  well  that  he  took  Thomas  to 
help  him — as  his  man,  you  know,  not  as  an- 
other conjurer,  though  Thomas  has  set  it  up 
now  on  his  own  hook.  But  it  has  been  a  great 
help  to  us,  that  likeness  between  the  twins, 
and  made  a  good  many  tricks  go  off  well  that 
they  made  up  together.  And  Thomas  is  a 
good  brother,  only  he  has  not  the  fine  carriage 
of  my  husband,  so  that  I  can't  think  how  he 
can  be  taken  for  Signor  Brunoni  himself,  as  he 
says  he  is." 

"Poor  little  Phoebe!"  said  I,  my  thoughts 
going  back  to  the  baby  she  carried  all  those 
hundred  miles. 

"Ah!  you  may  say  so!     I  never  thought  I 


204  CrantorD. 

should  have  reared  her,  though,  when  she  fell 
ill  at  Chunderabaddad;  but  that  good,  kind 
Aga  Jenkyns  took  us  in,  which  I  believe  was 
the  very  saving  of  her." 

"Jenkyns,"  said  I. 

"Yes!  Jenkyns.  I  shall  think  all  people  of 
that  name  are  kind;  for  here  is  that  nice  old 
lady  who  conies  every  day  to  take  Phoebe  a 
walk!" 

But  an  idea  had  flashed  through  my  head: 
could  the  Aga  Jenkyns  be  the  lost  Peter? 
True,  he  was  reported  by  many  to  be  dead. 
But,  equally  true,  some  one  had  said  that  he 
had  arrived  at  the  dignity  of  Great  Lama  of 
Thibet.  Miss  Matty  thought  he  was  alive.  I 
would  make  further  inquiry. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

ENGAGED  TO  BE  MARRIED. 

WAS  the  "  poor  Peter  "  of  Cranford  the  Aga 
Jenkyns  of  Chunderabaddad,  or  was  he 
not  ?  As  somebody  says,  that  was  the  question. 

In  my  own  home,  whenever  people  had 
nothing  else  to  do,  they  blamed  me  for  want  of 
discretion.  Indiscretion  was  my  bugbear 
fault.  Everybody  has  a  bugbear  fault;  a  sort 
of  standing  characteristic — a  piece  de  resistance 
for  their  friends  to  cut  at;  and  in  general  they 
cut  and  come  again.  I  was  tired  of  being 
called  indiscreet  and  incautious;  and  I  deter- 
mined for  once  to  prove  myself  a  model  of  pru- 
dence and  wisdom.  I  would  not  even  hint  my 
suspicions  respecting  the  Aga.  I  would  collect 
evidence,  and  carry  it  home  to  lay  before  my 
father,  as  the  family  friend  of  the  two  Misses 
Jenkyns. 

In  my  search  after  facts,  I  was  often  re- 
minded of  a  description  my  father  had  once 
given  of  a  Ladies'  Committee  that  he  had  had 
to  preside  over.  He  said  he  could  not  help 
thinking  of  a  passage  in  Dickens,  which  spoke 
of  a  chorus  in  which  every  man  took  the  tune 
he  knew  best,  and  sang  it  to  his  own  satis- 
faction. So,  at  this  charitable  committee, 
(205) 


2o6  Crantor6. 

every  lady  took  the  subject  uppermost  in  her 
mind,  and  talked  about  it  to  her  own  great 
contentment,  but  not  much  to  the  advance- 
ment of  the  subject  they  had  met  to  discuss. 
But  even  that  committee  could  have  been 
nothing  to  the  Cranford  ladies  when  I  at- 
tempted to  gain  some  clear  and  deSnite  infor- 
mation as  to  poor  Peter's  height,  appearance, 
and  when  and  where  he  was  seen  and  heard  of 
last.  For  instance,  I  remember  asking  Miss 
Pole  (and  I  thought  the  question  was  very  op- 
portune, for  I  put  it  when  I  met  her  at  a  call 
at  Mrs.  Forrester's,  and  both  the  ladies  had 
known  Peter,  and  I  imagined  that  they  might 
refresh  each  other's  memories);  I  asked  Miss 
Pole  what  was  the  very  last  thing  they  had 
ever  heard  about  him;  and  then  she  named 
the  absurd  report  to  which  I  have  alluded, 
about  his  having  been  elected  Great  Lama  of 
Thibet;  and  this  was  a  signal  for  each  lady  to 
go  oflf  on  her  separate  idea.  Mrs.  Forrester's 
start  was  made  on  the  Veiled  Prophet  in  Lalla 
Rookh — whether  I  thought  he  was  meant  for 
the  Great  Lama;  though  Peter  was  not  so 
ugly,  indeed,  rather  handsome,  if  he  had  not 
been  freckled.  I  was  thankful  to  see  her 
double  upon  Peter;  but  in  a  moment  the  de- 
lusive lady  was  off  upon  Rowland's  Kalydor, 
and  the  merits  of  cosmetics  and  hair-oils  in 
general,  and  holding  forth  so  fluently,  that  I 
turned  to  listen  to  Miss  Pole,  who  (through 
the  llamas,  the  beasts  of  burden)  had  got  to 


BnflagcD  to  be  /IbarrleD.  207 

Peruvian  bonds,  and  the  share  market,  and 
her  poor  opinion  of  joint-stock  banks  in  gen- 
eral, and  of  that  one  in  particular  in  which 
Miss  Matty's  money  was  invested.  In  vain  I 
put  in,  "When  was  it — in  what  year  was  it, 
that  you  heard  that  Mr.  Peter  was  the  Great 
Lama?"  They  only  joined  issue  to  dispute 
whether  llamas  were  carnivorous  animals  or 
not,  in  which  dispute  they  were  not  quite  on 
fair  grounds,  as  Mrs.  Forrester  (after  they  had 
grown  warm  and  cool  again)  acknowledged 
that  she  always  confused  carnivorous  and 
graminivorous  together,  just  as  she  did  hori- 
zontal and  perpendicular;  but  then  she  apolo- 
gized for  it  very  prettil}'  by  saying  that  in  her 
day  the  only  use  people  made  of  four-syllabled 
,  words  was  to  teach  how  they  should  be 
spelled. 

The  only  fact  I  gained  from  this  conversa- 
tion was  that  certainly  Peter  had  last  been 
heard  of  in  India,  "or  that  neighborhood;" 
and  that  this  scanty  intelligence  of  his  where- 
abouts had  reached  Cranford  in  the  year  when 
Miss  Pole  had  bought  her  India  muslin  gown, 
long  since  worn  out  (we  washed  it,  and  mended 
it,  and  traced  its  decline  and  fall  into  a  window- 
blind,  before  we  could  go  on);  and  in  a  year 
when  Womb  well  came  to  Cranford,  because 
Miss  Matty  had  wanted  to  see  an  elephant,  in 
order  that  she  might  the  better  imagine  Peter 
riding  on  one,  and  had  seen  a  boa-constrictor 
too,  which  was  more  than  she  wished  to  imagine 


2o8  CranforD. 

in  her  fancy  pictures  of  Peter's  locality — and  in 
a  year  when  Miss  Jeukyns  had  learned  some 
piece  of  poetry  oif  by  heart,  and  used  to  say,  at 
all  the  Crauford  parties,  how  Peter  was  "sur- 
veying mankind  from  China  to  Peru,"  which 
everybody  had  thought  very  grand,  and  rather 
appropriate,  because  India  was  between  China 
and  Peru,  if  you  took  care  to  turn  the  globe  to 
the  left  instead  of  the  right. 

I  suppose  all  these  inquiries  of  mine,  and  the 
consequent  curiosity  excited  in  the  minds  of 
my  friends,  made  us  blind  and  deaf  to  what 
was  going  on  around  us.  It  seemed  to  me  as 
if  the  sun  rose  and  shone,  and  as  if  the  rain 
rained  on  Cranford  just  as  usual,  and  I  did  not 
notice  anj'^  sign  of  the  times  that  could  be  con- 
sidered as  a  prognostic  of  any  uncommon  event)- 
and,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  not  only  Miss 
Matty  and  Mrs.  Forrester,  but  even  Miss  Pole 
herself,  whom  we  looked  upon  as  a  kind  of 
prophetess,  from  the  knack  she  had  of  foresee- 
ing things  before  they  came  to  pass — although 
she  did  not  like  to  disturb  her  friends  by  telling 
them  her  foreknowledge — even  Miss  Pole  her- 
self was  breathless  with  astonishment,  when 
she  came  to  tell  us  of  the  astounding  piece  of 
news.  But  I  must  recover  myself;  the  con- 
templation of  it,  even  at  this  distance  of  time, 
has  taken  away  my  breath  and  my  grammar, 
and  unless!  subdue  my  emotion,  my  spelling 
will  go  too. 

We  were  sitting — Miss  Matty  sad  I — much 


EngageO  to  be  ^acrleo.  209 

as  usual;  she  in  the  blue  chintz  easy  chair, 
with  her  back  to  the  light,  and  her  knitting  in 
her  hand,  I  reading  aloud  the  SL  James's 
Chronicle.  A  few  minutes  more,  and  we  should 
have  gone  to  make  the  little  alterations  in  dress 
usual  before  calling-time  (twelve  o'clock)  in 
Cranford.  I  remember  the  scene  and  the  date 
well.  We  had  been  talking  of  the  signer's 
rapid  recovery  since  the  warmer  weather  had 
set  in,  and  praising  Mr.  Hoggins'  skill,  and 
lamenting  his  want  of  refinement  and  manner 
— (it  seems  a  curious  coincidence  that  this 
should  have  been  our  subject,  but  so  it  was) — 
when  a  knock  was  heard;  a  caller's  knock — 
three  distinct  taps — and  we  were  flying  (that 
is  to  say,  Miss  Matty  could  not  walk  very  fast, 
having  had  a  touch  of  rheumatism)  to  our 
rooms,  to  change  caps  and  collars,  when  Miss 
Pole  arrested  us  by  calling  out  as  she  came  up 
the  stairs:  "Don't  go, — I  can't  wait — it  is  not 
twelve,  I  know — but  never  mind  your  dress — I 
must  speak  to  you."  We  did  our  best  to  look 
as  if  it  was  not  we  who  had  made  the  hurried 
movement,  the  sound  of  which  she  had  heard; 
for,  of  course,  we  did  not  like  to  have  it  sup- 
posed that  we  had  any  old  clothes  that  it  was 
convenient  to  wear  out  in  the  "sanctuary  of 
home,"  as  Miss  Jenkyns  once  prettily  called 
the  back  parlor,  where  she  was  tying  up  pre- 
serves. So  we  threw  our  gentility  with  double 
force  into  our  manners,  and  very  genteel  we 
were  for  two  minutes,  while  Miss  Pole  recov- 
14 


2IO  CranforD. 

ered  breath,  and  excited  our  curiosity  strongly 
by  lifting  up  her  hands  in  amazement,  and 
bringing  them  down  in  silence,  as  if  what  she 
had  to  say  was  too  big  for  words,  and  could 
only  be  expressed  by  pantomime. 

"What  do  you  think,  Miss  Matty?  What 
do  5'ou  think?  I,ady  Glenmire  is  to  marry — 
is  to  be  married,  I  mean — Lady  Glenmire — 
Mr.  Hoggins — Mr.  Hoggins  is  going  to  marry 
Lady  Glenmire!" 

"Marry!"  said  we.     "Marry?     Madness!" 

"Marry!"  said  Miss  Pole,  with  the  decision 
that  belonged  to  her  character.  "I  said  'Marry!' 
as  you  do;  and  I  also  said,  '  What  a  fool  my 
lady  is  going  to  make  of  herself  I'  I  could  have 
said  '  Madness!'  but  I  controlled  myself,  for  it 
was  in  a  public  shop  that  I  heard  of  it.  Where 
feminine  delicacy  is  gone  to,  I  don't  know! 
You  and  I,  Miss  Matty,  would  have  been 
ashamed  to  have  known  that  our  marriage 
was  spoken  of  in  a  grocer's  shop,  in  the  hear- 
ing of  shopmen!" 

"But,"  said  Miss  Matty,  sighing  as  one 
recovering  from  a  blow,  "  perhaps  it  is  not 
true.     Perhaps  we  are  doing  her  injustice." 

"No,"  said  Miss  Pole,  "I  have  taken  care 
to  ascertain  that.  I  went  straight  to  Mrs. 
Fitz-Adam,  to  borrow  a  cookery  book  which  I 
knew  she  had;  and  I  introduced  my  congratu- 
lations apropos  of  the  difficulty  gentlemen  must 
have  in  housekeeping;  and  Mrs.  Fitz-Adam 
bridled  up  and  said  that  she  believed  it  was 


Bndaged  to  be  /batrieO.  211 

true,  though  how  and  where  I  could  have 
heard  it  she  did  not  know.  She  said  her 
brother  and  Lady  Gleninire  had  come  to  an 
understanding  at  last.  'Understanding!'  such 
a  coarse  word!  But  my  lady  will  have  to 
come  down  to  many  a  want  of  refinement.  I 
have  reason  to  believe  Mr.  Hoggins  sup§  on 
bread  and  cheese  and  beer  every  night." 

"Marry!"  said  Mi.ss  Matty  once  again. 
"Well!  I  never  thought  of  it.  Two  people 
that  we  know  going  to  be  married.  It's  com- 
ing very  near." 

"So  near  that  my  heart  stopped  beating 
when  I  heard  of  it,  while  you  might  have 
counted  twelv'e,"  said  Miss  Pole. 

"  One  does  not  know  whose  turn  may  come 
next.  Here,  in  Cranford,  poor  Lady  Glenmire 
might  have  thought  herself  safe,"  said  Miss 
Matty,  with  a  gentle  pity  in  her  tones. 

"Bah!"  said  Miss  Pole,  with  a  toss  of  her 
head.  "  Don't  you  remember  poor  dear  Cap- 
tain Brown's  song,  Tibbie  Fowler,  and  the 
line: 

'  Set  her  on  the  Tiutock  Tap, 
The  wiud  will  blaw  a  man  'till  her.'  " 

"That  was  because  'Tibbie  Fowler'  was 
rich,  I  think." 

"Well,  there  is  a  kind  of  attraction  about 
Lady  Glenmire  that  I,  for  one,  should  be 
ashamed  to  have." 

I  put  in  my  wonder.     "  But  how  can  she 


112  Craufor&. 

have  fancied  Mr.  Hoggius  ?  I  am  not  sur- 
prised that  Mr.  Hoggins  has  liked  her." 

"  Oh!  I  don't  know.  Mr.  Hoggins  is  rich, 
and  very  pleasant-looking,"  said  Miss  Matty, 
"  and  very  good-tempered  and  kind-hearted." 

"She has  married  for  an  establishment,  that's 
it. .  I  suppose  she  takes  the  surgery  with  it," 
said  Miss  Pole,  with  a  little  dry  laugh  at  her 
own  joke.  But,  like  many  people  who  think 
they  have  made  a  severe  and  sarcastic  speech, 
which  yet  is  clever  of  its  kind,  she  began  to 
relax  in  her  grimness  from  the  moment  when 
she  made  this  allusion  to  the  surgery;  and  we 
turned  to  speculate  on  the  way  in  which  Mrs. 
Jamieson  would  receive  the  news.  The  person 
whom  she  had  left  in  charge  of  her  house  to 
keep  off  followers  from  her  maids,  to  set  up  a 
follower  of  her  own!  And  that  follower  a  man 
whom  Mrs.  Jamieson  had  tabooed  as  vulgar, 
and  inadmissible  to  Cranford  society;  not 
merely  on  account  of  his  name,  but  because  of 
his  voice,  his  complexion,  his  boots,  smelling 
of  the  stable,  and  himself,  smelling  of  drugs. 
Had  he  ever  been  to  see  lyady  Glenmire  at  Mrs. 
Jamieson's  ?  Chloride  of  lime  would  not  purify 
the  house,  in  its  owner's  estimation,  if  he  had. 
Or  had  their  inter\dews  been  confined  to  the 
occasional  meetings  in  the  chamber  of  the  poor 
sick  conjurer,  to  whom,  with  all  our  sense  of 
the  mesalliance,  we  could  not  help  allowing 
that  they  both  had  been  exceedingly  kind? 
And  now  it  turned  out  that  a  servant  of  Mrs. 


BngageO  to  be  /HbarrlcO.  213 

Jamiesou's  had  been  ill,  and  Mr.  Hoggins  had 
been  attending  her  for  some  weeks.  So  the 
wolf  had  got  into  the  fold,  and  now  he  was  car- 
rying off  the  shepherdess.  What  would  Mrs. 
Jamieson  say  ?  We  looked  into  the  darkness 
of  futurity  as  a  child  gazes  after  a  rocket  up  in 
the  cloudy  sky,  full  of  wondering  expectation 
of  the  rattle,  the  discharge,  and  the  brilliant 
shower  of  sparks  and  light.  Then  we  brought 
ourselves  down  to  earth  and  the  present  time 
by  questioning  each  other  (being  all  equally 
ignorant,  and  all  equally  without  the  slightest 
data  to  build  any  conclusions  upon)  as  to  when 
IT  would  take  place?  Where?  How  much  a 
year  Mr.  Hoggins  had  ?  Whether  she  would 
drop  her  title  ?  And  how  Martha  and  the  other 
correct  servants  in  Cranford  would  ever  be 
brought  to  announce  a  married  couple  as  Lady 
Glenmire  and  Mr.  Hoggins?  But  would  they 
be  visited?  Would  Mrs.  Jamieson  let  us?  Oi 
must  we  choose  between  the  Honorable  Mrs. 
Jamieson  and  the  degraded  Lady  Glenmire? 
We  all  liked  Lady  Glenmire  the  best.  She 
was  bright,  and  kind,  and  sociable,  and  agree- 
able; and  Mrs.  Jamieson  was  dull,  and  inert, 
and  pompous,  and  tiresome.  But  we  had 
acknowledged  the  sway  of  the  latter  so  long, 
that  it  seemed  like  a  kind  of  disloyalty  now 
even  to  meditate  disobedience  to  the  pro'iibi- 
tion  we  anticipated. 

Mrs.   Forrester  surprised  us  in  our  da   \r:d 
caps  and  patched  collars;  and  we  for/o     v  11 


214 


CranforO. 


about  them  in  our  eagerness  to  see  how  she 
would  bear  the  information,  which  we  honor- 
abh'  left  to  Miss  Pole  to  impart,  although,  if 
we  had  been  inclined  to  take  unfair  advantage, 
we  might  have  rushed  in  ourselves,  for  she 
had  a  most  out-of- place  fit  of  coughing  for  five 
minutes  after  Mrs.  Forrester  entered  the  room. 
I  shall  never  forget  the  imploring  expression 
of  her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  us  over  her  pocket- 
handkerchief.  They  said,  as  plain  as  words 
could  speak,  "  Don't  let  Nature  deprive  me  of 
the  treasure  which  is  mine,  although  for  a  time 
I  can  make  no  use  of  it."     And  we  did  not. 

Mrs.  Forrester's  surprise  was  equal  to  ours; 
and  her  sense  of  injury  rather  greater,  because 
she  had  to  feel  for  her  Order,  and  saw  more 
fully  than  we  could  do  how  such  conduct 
brought  stains  on  the  aristocracy. 

When  she  and  Miss  Pole  left  us,  we  endeav- 
ored to  subside  into  calmness;  but  Miss  Matty 
was  really  upset  by  the  intelligence  she  had 
heard.  She  reckoned  it  up,  and  it  was  more 
than  fifteen  years  since  she  had  heard  of  any 
of  her  acquaintance  going  to  be  married,  with 
the  one  exception  of  Miss  Jessie  Brown;  and, 
as  she  said,  it  gave  her  quite  a  shock,  and 
made  her  feel  as  if  she  could  n't  think  what 
would  happen  next. 

I  don't  know  if  it  is  a  fancy  of  mine  or  a  real 
fact,  but  I  have  noticed  that,  just  after  the  an- 
nouncement of  an  engagement  in  any  set,  the 
u*  'married  ladies  in  that  set  flutter  out  in  an 


BnflageO  to  be  /iBarrteD.  215 

unusual  gayety  and  newness  of  dress,  as  much 
as  to  say  in  a  tacit  and  unconscious  manner, 
"We  also  are  spinsters."  Miss  Matty  and 
Miss  Pole  talked  and  thought  more  about  bon- 
nets, gowns,  caps,  and  shawls  during  the  fort- 
night that  succeeded  this  call  than  I  had  known 
them  do  for  years  before.  But  it  might  be  the 
sp]  ing  weather,  for  it  was  a  warm  and  pleasant 
March;  and  merinos  and  beavers,  and  woollen 
materials  of  all  sorts,  were  but  ungracious  re- 
ceptacles of  the  bright  sun's  glancing  rays.  It 
had  not  been  Lady  Glenmire's  dress  that  had 
won  Mr.  Hoggins'  heart,  for  she  went  about  on 
her  errands  of  kindness  more  shabby  than  ever. 
Although  in  the  hurried  glimpses  I  caught  of 
her  at  church  or  elsewhere,  she  appeared 
rather  to  shun  meeting  any  of  her  friends,  her 
face  seemed  to  have  almost  something  of  the 
flush  of  youth  in  it;  her  lips  looked  redder,  and 
more  trembling  full  than  in  their  old  com- 
pressed state,  and  her  eyes  dwelt  on  all  things 
with  a  lingering  light,  as  if  she  was  learning 
to  love  Cranford  and  its  belongings.  Mr. 
Hoggins  looked  broad  and  radiant,  and  creaked 
up  the  middle  aisle  at  church  in  a  bran-new 
pair  of  top-boots — an  audible,  as  well  as  visible 
sign  of  his  purposed  change  of  state;  for  the 
tradition  went  that  the  boots  he  had  worn  till 
now  were  the  identical  pair  in  which  he  first 
set  out  on  his  rounds  in  Cranford  twenty-five 
years  ago;  only  they  had  been  new-pieced, 
high  and  low,  top  and  bottom,  heel  and  sole, 


2i6  Crantcr?. 

black  leather  and  brown   leather,  more  times 
than  any  one  could  tell. 

None  of  the  ladies  in  Cranford  chose  to  sanc- 
tion the  marriage  by  congratulating  either  of 
the  parties.  We  wished  to  ignore  the  whole 
affair  until  our  liege  lady,  Mrs.  Jamieson,  re- 
turned. Till  she  came  back  to  give  us  our  cue, 
we  felt  that  it  would  be  better  to  consider  the 
engagement  in  the  same  light  as  the  Queen  of 
Spain's  legs — facts  which  certainly  existed,  but 
the  less  said  about  the  better.  This  restraint 
upon  our  tongues — for  you  see,  if  we  did  not 
speak  about  it  to  any  of  the  parties  concerned, 
how  could  we  get  answers  to  the  questions  that 
we  longed  to  ask? — was  beginning  to  be  irk- 
some, and  our  idea  of  the  dignity  of  silence  was 
paling  before  our  curiosity,  when  another  direc- 
tion was  given  to  our  thoughts, by  an  announce- 
ment on  the  part  of  the  principal  shopkeeper 
oi  Crauioid,  who  ranged  the  trades  from  grocer 
and  cheesemonger  to  man-milliner,  as  occasion 
required,  that  the  Spring  Fashions  were  arrived, 
and  would  be  exhibited  on  the  following  Tues- 
day, at  his  rooms  in  High  Street.  Now  Miss 
Matty  had  been  only  waiting  for  this  before 
buying  herself  a  new  silk  gown.  I  had  offered, 
it  is  true,  to  send  to  Drumble  for  patterns,  but 
she  had  rejected  my  proposal,  gently  implying 
that  she  had  not  forgotten  her  disappointment 
about  the  sea-green  turban.  I  was  thankful 
that  I  was  on  the  spot  now,  to  counteract  the 
dazzling  fascination  of  any  yellow  or  scarlet 
silk. 


EnsagcD  to  be  /iBarrieO.  217 

I  must  say  a  word  or  two  here  about  myself. 
I  have  spoken  of  my  father's  old  friendship  for 
the  Jenkyns  family;  indeed,  I  am  not  sure  if 
there  was  not  some  distant  relationship.  He 
had  willingly  allowed  me  to  remain  all  the 
winter  at  Cranford,  in  consideration  of  a  letter 
which  Miss  Matty  had  written  to  him  about 
the  time  of  the  panic,  in  which  I  suspect  she 
had  exaggerated  my  powers  and  my  bravery  as 
a  defender  of  the  house.  But  now  that  the 
days  were  longer  and  more  cheerful,  he  was 
beginning  to  urge  the  necessity  of  my  return; 
and  I  only  delayed  in  a  sort  of  odd  forlorn  hope 
that,  if  I  could  obtain  any  clear  information,  I 
might  make  the  account  given  by  the  signora 
of  the  Aga  Jenkyns  tally  with  that  of  "poor 
Peter,"  his  appearance  and  disappearance, 
which  I  had  winnowed  out  of  the  conversation 
of  Miss  Pole  and  Miss  Forrester. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

STOPPED    PAYMENT. 

THE  very  Tuesday  morning  on  which  Mr. 
Johnson  was  going  to  show  fashions,  the 
post-woman  brought  two  letters  to  the  house. 
I  say  the  post- woman,  but  I  should  say  the 
postman's  wife.  He  was  a  lame  shoemaker,  a 
very  clean,  honest  man,  much  respected  in  the 
town;  but  he  never  brought  the  letters  round, 
except  on  unusual  occasions,  such  as  Christmas 
Day  or  Good  Friday;  and  on  those  days  the  let- 
ters, which  should  have  been  delivered  at  eight 
in  the  morning,  did  not  make  their  appearance 
until  two  or  three  in  the  afternoon;  for  every 
one  liked  poor  Thomas,  and  gave  him  a  wel- 
come on  these  festive  occasions.  He  used  to 
say,  "He  was  welly  stawed  wi'  eating,  for  there 
were  three  or  four  houses  where  nowt  would 
serve  'em  but  he  must  share  in  their  break- 
fast;" and  by  the  time  he  had  done  his  last 
breakfast,  he  came  to  some  other  friend  who 
was  beginning  dinner;  but  come  what  might 
in  the  way  of  temptation,  Tom  was  always 
sober,  civil,  and  smiling;  and,  as  Miss  Jenkyns 
used  to  say,  it  was  a  lesson  in  patience,  that  she 
doubted  not  would  call  out  that  precious  quality 
in  some  minds,  where,  but  for  Thomas,  it  might 

(218) 


StoppcO  payment.  219 

have  lain  dormant  and  undiscovered.  Patience 
was  certainly  very  dormant  in  Miss  Jenkj-ns' 
mind.  She  was  always  expecting  letters,  and 
always  drumming  on  the  table  till  the  post- 
woman  had  called  or  gone  past.  On  Christmas 
Day  and  Good  Friday,  she  drummed  from 
breakfast  till  church,  from  church-time  till  two 
o'clock — unless  when  the  fire  wanted  stirring, 
when  she  invariabl)'  knocked  down  the  fire- 
irons,  and  scolded  Miss  Matty  for  it.  But 
equally  certain  was  the  hearty  welcome  and  the 
good  dinner  for  Thomas;  Miss  Jenkyns  stand- 
ing over  him  like  a  bold  dragon,  questioning 
him  as  to  his  children — what  they  were  doing 
— what  school  they  went  to;  upbraiding  him  if 
another  was  likeh'  to  make  its  appearance,  but 
sending  even  the  little  babies  the  shilling  and 
the  mince  pie,  which  was  her  gift  to  all  the 
children,  with  half  a  crown  in  addition  for  both 
father  and  mother.  The  Post  was  not  of  half 
so  much  consequence  to  dear  Miss  Matty;  but 
not  for  the  world  would  she  liave  diminished 
Thomas'  welcome,  and  his  dole,  though  I 
could  see  that  she  felt  rather  sh}'  over  the  cere- 
mony, which  had  been  regarded  by  Miss 
Jenkyns  as  a  glorious  opportunity  for  giving 
advice  and  benefitting  her  fellow-creatures. 
Miss  Matty  would  steal  the  money  all  in  a 
lump  into  his  hand,  as  if  she  were  ashamed  of 
herself.  Miss  Jenkyns  gave  him  each  indi- 
vidual coin  separate,  with  a  '"x^ere!  that's 
for  yourself;  that's   for   Jenny,"   etc.      Miss 


220  CianforJ). 

Matty  would  even  beckon  Martha  out  of  the 
kitchen  while  he  ate  his  food;  and  once,  to  my 
knowledge,  winked  at  its  rapid  disappearance 
into  a  blue  cotton  pocket-handkerchief.  Miss 
Jenkyns  almost  scolded  him  if  he  did  not  leave 
g  clean  plate,  however  heaped  it  might  have 
been,  and  gave  an  injunction  with  every 
mouthful. 

I  have  wandered  a  long  way  from  the  two 
letters  that  awaited  us  on  the  breakfast-table 
that  Tuesday  morning.  Mine  was  from  my 
father.  Miss  Matty's  was  printed.  My  father's 
was  just  a  man's  letter;  I  mean  it  was  very 
dull,  and  gave  no  information  beyond  that  he 
was  well,  that  they  had  had  a  good  deal  of 
rain,  that  trade  was  very  stagnant,  and  that 
there  were  many  disagreea'ole  rumors  afloat. 
He  then  asked  me  if  I  knew  whether  Miss 
Matty  still  retained  her  shares  in  the  Town 
and  County  Bank,  as  there  were  very  un- 
pleasant reports  about  it;  though  nothing  more 
than  he  had  always  foreseen,  and  had  prophe- 
sied to  Miss  Jenkyns  years  ago,  when  she 
would  invest  their  little  property  in  it — the 
only  unwise  step  that  clever  woman  had  ever 
taken,  to  his  knowledge — (the  only  time  she 
ever  acted  against  his  advice,  I  knew).  How- 
ever, if  an5'thing  had  gone  wrong,  of  course  I 
was  not  to  think  of  leaving  Miss  Matty  while 
I  could  be  of  any  use,  etc. 

"  Who  is  your  letter  from,  my  dear?  Mine 
is  a  very  civil  invitation,  signed  Edward  Wil- 


stopped  payment.  221 

son,  askiug  me  to  attend  an  important  meet- 
ing of  the  shareholders  of  the  Town  and 
County  Bank,  to  be  held  in  Drumble,  on 
Thursday  the  twenty-first.  I  am  sure  it  is 
very  attentive  of  them  to  remember  me." 

I  did  not  like  to  hear  of  this  "important 
meeting,"  for  though  I  did  not  know  much 
about  business,  I  feared  it  confirmed  what  my 
father  said;  however,  I  thought,  ill  news  al- 
ways came  fast  enough,  so  I  resolved  to  say 
nothing  about  my  alarm,  and  merely  told  her 
that  my  father  was  well,  and  sent  his  kind 
regards  to  her.  She  kept  turning  over,  and 
admiring  her  letter.     At  last  she  spoke  : 

"  I  remember  their  sending  one  to  Deborah 
just  like  this;  but  that  I  did  not  wonder  at, 
for  everybody  knew  she  was  so  clear-headed. 
I  am  afraid  I  could  not  help  them  much;  in- 
deed, if  they  came  to  accounts,  I  should  be  quite 
in  the  way,  for  I  never  could  do  sums  in  my 
head.  Deborah,  I  know,  rather  wished  to  go, 
and  went  so  far  as  to  order  a  new  bonnet  for  the 
occasion;  but  when  the  time  came,  she  had  a 
bad  cold;  so  they  sent  her  a  very  polite  account 
of  what  the}'  had  done.  Chosen  a  director,  I 
think  it  was.  Do  you  think  they  want  me  to 
help  them  to  choose  a  director?  I  am  sure  I 
should  choose  your  father  at  once." 

"My  father  has  no  shares  in  the  bank," 
said  I. 

"Oh  no!  I  remember!  He  objected  very 
much  to  Deborah's  buying  any,  I  believe.     But 


222  CranfocO. 

she  was  quite  the  woman  of  business,  and  al- 
ways judged  for  herself;  and  here,  you  see,  they 
have  paid  eight  per  cent,  all  these  years." 

It  was  a  very  uncomfortable  subject  to  me, 
with  my  half  knowledge;  so  I  thought  I  would 
change  the  conversation,  and  I  asked  at  what 
time  she  thought  we  had  better  go  and  see  the 
fashions.  "Well,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "the 
thing  is  this:  it  is  not  etiquette  to  go  till  after 
twelve;  but  then,  you  see,  all  Cranford  will  be 
there,  and  one  does  not  like  to  be  too  curious 
about  dress,  and  trimmings,  and  caps,  with  all 
the  world  looking  on.  It  is  never  genteel  to 
be  over-curious  on  these  occasions.  Deborah 
had  the  knack  of  always  looking  as  if  the  latest 
fashion  was  nothing  new  to  her;  a  manner  she 
had  caught  from  Lady  Arley,  who  did  see  all 
the  new  modes  in  London,  you  know.  So  I 
thought  we  would  just  slip  down  this  morning, 
soon  after  breakfast;  for  I  do  want  half  a  pound 
of  tea;  and  then  we  could  go  up  and  examine 
the  things  at  our  leisure,  and  see  exactly  how 
my  new  silk  gown  must  be  made;  and  then, 
after  twelve,  we  could  go  with  our  minds  dis- 
engaged, and  free  from  thoughts  of  dress." 

We  began  to  talk  of  Miss  Matty's  new  silk 
gown.  I  discovered  that  it  would  be  really  the 
first  time  in  her  life  that  she  had  had  to  choose 
anything  of  consequence  for  herself;  for  Miss 
Jenkyns  had  always  been  the  more  decided 
character,  whatever  her  taste  might  have  been; 
and  it  is  astonishing  how  such  people  carry 


StoppeO  ff>avmcnt.  223 

the  world  before  them  by  the  mere  force  of  will. 
Miss  Matt}^  anticipated  the  sight  of  the  glossy 
folds  with  as  much  delight  as  if  the  five  sove- 
reigns, set  apart  for  the  purchase,  could  buy  all 
the  silks  in  the  shop;  and  (remembering  my 
own  loss  of  two  hours  in  a  toy-shop  before  I 
could  tell  on  what  wonder  to  spend  a  silver 
threepence)  I  was  very  glad  that  we  were  going 
early,  that  dear  Miss  Matty  might  have  leisure 
for  the  delights  of  perplexity. 

If  a  happy  sea-green  could  be  met  with,  the 
gown  was  to  be  sea-green:  if  not,  she  inclined 
to  maize,  and  I  to  silver  gray;  and  we  dis- 
cussed the  requisite  number  of  breadths  until 
we  arrived  at  the  shop  door.  We  were  to  buy 
the  tea,  select  the  silk,  and  then  clamber  up 
the  iron  corkscrew  stairs  that  led  into  what 
was  once  a  loft,  though  now  a  Fashion  show- 
room. 

The  young  men  at  Mr.  Johnson's  had  on 
their  best  looks,  and  their  best  cravats,  and 
pivoted  themselves  over  the  counter  with  sur- 
prising activity.  They  wanted  to  show  us  up- 
stairs at  once;  but  on  the  principle  of  business 
first  and  pleasure  afterward,  we  stayed  to  pur- 
chase the  tea.  Here  Miss  Mattj^'s  absence  of 
mind  betrayed  itself.  If  she  was  made  aware 
that  she  had  been  drinking  green  tea  at  any 
time,  she  always  thought  it  her  duty  to  lie 
awake  half  through  the  night  afterward — (I 
have  known  her  take  it  in  ignorance  many  a 
time  without  such  effects) — and  consequently 


224  CranforD. 

green  tea  was  prohibited  the  house;  yet  to-day 
she  herself  asked  for  the  obnoxious  article, 
under  the  impression  that  she  was  talking 
about  the  silk.  However,  the  mistake  was 
soon  rectified;  and  then  the  silks  were  unrolled 
in  good  truth.  By  this  time  the  shop  was 
pretty  well  filled,  for  it  was  Cranford  market- 
day,  and  many  of  the  farmers  and  country 
people  from  the  neighborhood  round  came  in, 
sleeking  down  their  hair,  and  glancing  shyl) 
about  from  under  their  eyelids,  as  anxious  to 
take  hack  some  notion  o<"  the  unusual  gavety 
to  tlie  mistress  or  the  lasses  at  nome,  ana  yel 
feeling  that  they  were  out  of  place  among  the 
smart  shopmen,  and  gay  shawls,  and  summei 
prints.  One  honest-looking  man,  however, 
made  his  way  up  to  the  counter  at  which  we 
stood,  and  boldly  asked  to  look  at  a  shawl  or 
two.  The  other  country-folk  confined  them- 
selves to  the  grocery  side;  but  our  neighbor 
was  evidently  too  full  of  some  kind  attention 
toward  mistress,  wife,  or  daughter,  to  be  shy; 
and  it  soon  became  a  question  to  me  whether 
he  or  Miss  Matty  would  keep  their  shopman 
the  longest  time.  He  thought  each  shawl 
more  beautiful  than  the  last;  and  as  for  Miss 
Matty,  she  smiled  and  sighed  over  each  fresh 
bale  that  was  brought  out;  one  color  set  ofi"  an- 
other, and  the  heap  together  would,  as  she 
said,  make  even  the  rainbow  look  poor. 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  she,  hesitating,  "which- 
ever I  choose  I  shall  wish  I  had  taken  another. 


StoppcO  Payment.  225 

Look  at  this  lovely  crimson!  it  would  be  st> 
warm  in  winter.  But  spring  is  coming  on, 
you  know.  I  wish  I  could  have  a  gown  for 
every  season,"  said  she,  dropping  her  voice — as 
we  all  did  in  Cranford  whenever  we  talked  of 
anything  we  wished  for  but  could  not  afford. 
"However,"  she  continued  in  a  louder  and 
more  cheerful  tone,  ' '  it  would  give  me  a  great 
deal  of  trouble  to  take  care  of  them  if  I  had 
them;  so  I  think  I'll  only  take  one.  But 
which  must  it  be,  my  dear?" 

And  now  she  hovered  over  a  lilac  with  yellow 
spots,  while  I  pulled  out  a  quiet  sage-green, 
that  had  faded  into  insignificance  under  the 
more  brilliant  colors,  but  which  was  neverthe- 
less a  good  silk  in  its  humble  way.  Our  atten- 
tion was  called  off  to  our  neighbor.  He  had 
chosen  a  shawl  of  about  thirty  shillings'  value; 
and  his  face  looked  broadly  happy,  under  the 
anticipation,  no  doubt,  of  the  pleasant  surprise 
he  should  give  to  some  Molly  or  Jenny  at  home; 
he  had  tugged  a  leathern  purse  out  of  his 
breeches  pocket,  and  offered  a  five-pound  note 
in  payment  for  the  shawl,  and  for  some  parcels 
which  had  been  brought  round  to  him  from  the 
grocery  counter;  and  it  was  just  at  this  point 
that  he  attracted  our  notice.  The  shopman 
was  examining  the  note  with  a  puzzled,  doubt- 
ful air. 

"Town  and  County  Bank!     I  am  not  sure, 
sir,  but  I  believe  we  have  received  a  warning 
against  notes  issued  by   this  bank  only  this 
15 


226  CcanforO. 

morning.  I  will  just  step  and  ask  Mr.  Johnson, 
sir;  but  I'm  afraid  I  must  trouble  you  for  pay- 
ment in  cash,  or  in  a  note  of  a  different  bank." 

I  never  saw  a  man's  countenance  fall  so  sud- 
denly into  dismay  and  bewilderment.  It  was 
almost  piteous  to  see  the  rapid  change. 

"Dang  it!"  said  he,  striking  his  fist  down 
on  the  table,  as  if  to  try  which  was  the  harder, 
' '  the  chap  talks  as  if  notes  and  gold  were  to  be 
had  for  the  picking  up." 

Miss  Matty  had  forgotten  her  silk  gown  in 
her  interest  for  the  man.  I  don't  think  she 
had  caught  the  name  of  the  bank,  and  in  my 
nervous  cowardice  I  was  anxious  that  she 
should  not;  and  so  I  began  admiring  the  yel- 
low-spotted lilac  gown  that  I  had  been  utterly 
condemning  only  a  minute  before.  But  it  was 
of  no  use. 

' '  What  bank  was  it  ?  I  mean  what  bank  did 
your  note  belong  to  ?  " 

"Town  and  County  Bank." 

"Let  me  see  it,"  said  she,  quietly,  to  the 
shopman,  gently  taking  it  out  of  his  hand,  as 
he  brought  it  back  to  return  it  to  the  farmer. 

Mr.  Johnson  was  very  sorry,  but,  from  in- 
formation he  had  received,  the  notes  issued  by 
that  bank  were  little  better  than  waste  paper. 

"I  don't  understand  it,"  said  Miss  Matty  to 
me,  in  a  low  voice.  "That  is  our  bank,  is  it 
not — the  Town  and  County  Bank?" 

"Yes,"  said  I.  "This  lilac  silk  will  just 
match  the  ribbons  in  your  new  cap,  I  believe," 


StoppeD  pasntcnt.    »  227 

I  coutinued,  holding  up  the  folds  so  as  to 
catch  the  light,  aud  wishing  that  the  man 
would  make  haste  and  begone,  and  yet  having 
a  new  wonder,  that  had  only  just  sprung  up. 
how  far  it  was  wise  or  right  in  me  to  allow 
Miss  Matty  to  make  this  expensive  purchase, 
if  the  affairs  of  the  bank  were  really  so  bad  as 
the  refusal  of  the  note  implied. 

But  Miss  Matty  put  on  the  soft,  dignified 
manner  peculiar  to  her,  rarely  used,  and  yet 
which  became  her  so  well,  and,  laying  her 
hand  gently  on  mine,  she  said: 

"  Never  mind  the  silks  for  a  few  minutes, 
dear.  I  don't  understand  you,  sir,"  turning 
now  to  the  shopman,  wha  had  been  attending 
to  the  farmer.     "  Is  this  a  forged  note  ?" 

"Oh  no,  ma'am.  It  is  a  true  note  of  its 
kind;  but  you  see,  ma'am,  it  is  a  Joint  Stoqk 
Bank,  and  there  are  reports  out  that  it  is  likely 
to  break.  Mr.  Johnson  is  only  doing  his  duty, 
ma'am,  as  I  am  sure  Mr.  Dobson  knows." 

But  Mr.  Dobson  could  not  respond  to  the 
appealing  bow  b)^  any  answering  smile.  He 
was  turning  the  note  absently  over  in  his  fin- 
gers, looking  gloomily  enough  at  the  parcel 
containing  the  lately-chosen  shawl. 

"It's  hard  upon  a  poor  man,"  said  he,  "  as 
earns  every  farthing  with  the  sweat  of  his 
brow.  However,  there's  no  help  for  it.  You 
must  take  back  your  shawl,  my  man;  lyizzie 
must  do  on  with  her  cloak  for  a  while.  And 
yon  figs  for  the  little  ones — I  promised  them  to 


228  ♦  Granfor&. 

'em — I'll  take  them;  but  the  'bacco  and  the 
other  things— " 

' '  I  will  give  you  five  sovereigns  for  your 
note,  my  good  man,"  said  Miss  Matt}-.  "  I 
think  there  is  some  great  mistake  about  it,  for 
I  am  one  of  the  shareholders,  and  I'm  sure 
they  would  have  told  me  if  things  had  not 
been  going  on  right." 

The  shopman  whispered  a  word  or  two 
across  the  table  to  Miss  Matty.  She  looked 
at  him  with  a  dubious  air. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  she.  "  But  I  don't  pre- 
tend to  understand  business;  I  only  know  that 
if  it  is  going  to  fail,  and  if  honest  people  are  to 
lose  their  money  because  they  have  taken  our 
notes — I  can't  explain  myself,"  said  she,  sud- 
denly becoming  aware  that  she  had  got  into  a 
Ipng  sentence  with  four  people  for  audience — 
"only  I  would  rather  exchange  m\'  gold  for 
the  note,  if  j-ou  please,"  turning  to  the  farmer, 
"and  then  you  can  take  your  wife  the  shawl. 
It  is  only  going  without  my  gown  a  few  days 
longer,"  she  continued,  speaking  to  me. 
"  Then,  I  have  no  doubt,  everything  will  be 
cleared  up." 

"But  if  it  is  cleared  up  the  wrong  way  ?  " 
said  I. 

"Why!  then  it  will  only  have  been  common 
honesty  in  me,  as  a  shareholder,  to  have  given 
this  good  man  the  money.  I  am  quite  clear 
about  it  in  my  own  mind;  but,  you  know,  I 
can  never  speak  quite  as  comprehensibly  as 


stopped  payment.  229 

others  can;  only  you  must  give  me  your  note, 
Mr.  Dobson,  if  you  please,  and  go  on  with  your 
purchases  with  these  sovereigns." 

The  man  looked  at  her  with  silent  gratitude 
— too  awkward  to  put  his  thanks  into  words; 
but  he  hung  back  for  a  minute  or  two,  fum- 
bling with  his  note. 

'.'I'm  loth  to  make  another  one  lose  instead 
of  me,  if  it  is  a  loss;  but,  you  see,  five  pounds 
is  a  deal  of  money  to  a  man  with  a  family;  and, 
as  you  say,  ten  to  one,  in  a  day  or  two,  the 
note  will  be  as  good  as  gold  again." 

' '  No  hope  of  that,  my  friend, ' '  said  the  ^hop- 
man. 

"The  more  reason  why  I  should  take  it," 
said  Miss  Matty,  quietly.  She  pushed  her 
sovereigns  towards  the  man,  who  slowly  laid 
his  note  down  in  exchange.  "Thank  you.  I 
will  wait  a  day  or  two  before  I  purchase  any 
of  these  silks;  perhaps  you  will  then  have  a 
greater  variety  to  choose  from.  My  dear!  will 
you  come  up  stairs?" 

We  inspected  the  fashions  with  as  minute 
and  curious  an  interest  as  if  the  gown  to  be 
made  after  them  had  been  bought.  I  could  not 
see  that  the  little  event  in  the  shop  below  had 
in  the  least  damped  Miss  Matty's  curiosity  as 
to  the  make  of  sleeves  or  the  sit  of  skirts.  She 
once  or  twice  exchanged  congratulations  with 
me  on  our  private  and  leisurely  view  of  the 
bonnets  and  shawls;  but  I  was,  all  the  time, 
not  so  sure  that  our  examination  was  so  utterly 


230 


CrantorJ). 


private,  for  I  caught  glimpses  of  a  figure  dodg- 
ing behind  the  cloaks  and  mantles;  and,  bj-  a 
dextrous  move,  I  came  face  to  face  with  Miss 
Pole,  also  in  morning  costume  (the  principal 
feature  of  which  was  her  being  without  teeth, 
and  wearing  a  veil  to  conceal  the  deficiency), 
come  on  the  same  errand  as  ourselves.  But 
she  quickly  took  her  departure,  because,  as  she 
said,  she  had  a  bad  headache,  and  did  not  feel 
herself  up  to  conversation. 

As  we  came  down  through  the  shop,  the  civil 
Mr.  Johnson  was  awaiting  us;  he  had  been  in- 
formed of  the  exchange  of  the  note  for  gold,  and 
with  much  good  feeling  and  real  kindness,  but 
with  a  little  want  of  tact,  he  wished  to  condole 
with  Miss  Matty,  and  impress  upon  her  the  true 
state  of  the  case.  I  could  only  hope  that  he 
had  heard  an  exaggerated  rumor,  for  he  said 
that  her  shares  were  worse  than  nothing,  and 
that  the  bank  could  not  pay  a  shilling  in  the 
pound.  I  was  glad  that  Miss  Matty  seemed  still 
a  little  incredulous;  but  I  could  not  tell  how 
much  of  this  was  real  or  assumed,  with  that 
self-control  which  seemed  habitual  to  ladies  of 
Miss  Matty's  standing  in  Cranford,  who  would 
have  thought  their  dignity  compromised  by 
the  slightest  expression  of  surprise,  dismay,  or 
any  similar  feeling  to  an  inferior  in  station,  or 
in  a  public  shop.  However,  we  walked  home 
very  silently.  I  am  ashamed  to  say,  I  believe 
I  was  rather  vexed  and  annoyed  at  Miss 
Matty's  conduct  in  taking  the  note  to  herself 


stopped  ©asmcnt.  231 

so  decidedly.  I  had  so  set  my  heart  upon  hei 
having  a  new  silk  gown,  which  she  wanted 
sadly.  In  general  she  was  so  undecided  any- 
body might  turn  her  round;  in  this  case  I  had 
felt  that  it  was  no  use  attempting  it,  but  I  was 
not  the  less  put  out  at  the  result. 

Somehow,  after  twelve  o'clock,  we  both  ac- 
knowledged to  a  sated  curiosity  about  the  fash- 
ions; and  to  a  certain  fatigue  of  body  (which 
was,  in  fact,  depression  of  mind)  that  indis- 
posed us  to  go  out  again.  But  still  we  never 
spoke  of  the  note;  till,  all  at  once,  something 
possessed  me  to  ask  Miss  Matty  if  she  would 
think  it  her  duty  to  offer  sovereigns  for  all  the 
notes  of  the  Town  and  County  Bank  she  met 
with.  I  could  have  bitten  my  tongue  out  the 
minute  I  had  said  it.  She  looked  up  rather 
sadly,  and  as  if  I  had  thrown  a  new  perplexity 
into  her  already  distressed  mind,  and  for  a 
minute  or  two  she  did  not  speak.  Then  she 
said — my  own  dear  Miss  Matty — without  a 
shade  of  reproach  in  her  voice: 

' '  My  dear,  I  never  feel  as  if  my  mind  was 
what  people  call  very  strong;  and  it's  often 
hard  enough  work  for  me  to  settle  what  I  ought 
to  do  with  the  case  right  before  me.  I  was 
very  thankful  too — I  was  very  thankful,  that  I 
saw  my  duty  this  morning,  with  the  poor  man 
standing  by  me;  but  it's  rather  a  strain  upon 
me  to  keep  thinking  and  thinking  what  I 
should  do  if  such  and  such  a  thing  happened  ; 
and,  I  believe,  I  had  rather  wait  and  see  what 


232 


Crantc^^. 


really  does  come;  and  I  don't  doubt  I  shall  be 
helped  then,  if  I  don't  fidget  myself,  and  get 
too  anxious  b'  rehand.  You  know,  love,  I'm 
not  like  Deborah.  If  Deborah  had  lived,  I've 
no  doubt  she  would  have  seen  after  them 
before  they  had  got  themselves  into  this 
slate." 

We  had  neither  of  us  much  appetite  for  din- 
ner, though  we  tried  to  talk  cheerfully  about 
indiflFerent  things.  When  we  returned  into  the 
drawing-room.  Miss  Matty  unlocked  her  desk 
and  began  to  look  over  her  account-books.  I 
was  so  penitent  for  what  I  had  said  in  the 
morning,  that  I  did  not  choose  to  take  upon 
myself  the  presumption  to  suppose  that  I  could 
assist  her;  I  rather  left  her  alone,  as,  with 
puzzled  brow,  her  eye  followed  her  pen  up  and 
down  the  ruled  page.  By-and-by  she  shut  the 
book,  locked  her  desk,  and  came  and  drew  a 
chair  to  mine,  where  I  sat  in  moody  sorrow  over 
the  fire.  I  stole  my  hand  into  hers;  she  clasped 
it,  but  did  not  speak  a  word.  At  last  she  said, 
with  forced  composure  in  her  voice,  ' '  If  that 
bank  goes  wrong,  I  shall  lose  one  hundred  and 
forty-nine  pounds  thirteen  shillings  and  four- 
pence  a  year;  I  shall  only  have  thirteen  pounds 
a  year  left."  I  squeezed  her  hand  hard  and 
tight.  I  did  not  know  what  to  say.  Presently 
(it  was  too  dark  to  see  her  face)  I  felt  her  fing- 
ers working  convulsively  in  my  grasp;  and  I 
knew  she  was  going  to  speak  again.  I  heard 
the  sobs  in  her  voice  as  she  said,  "I  hope  it's 


StoppcD  pai^mcnt.  233 

not  wrong — not  wicked — but  oh!  I  am  so  glad 
poor  Deborah  is  spared  this.  She  could  not 
have  borne  to  come  down  in  the  world — she 
had  such  a  noble,  lofty  spirit." 

This  was  all  she  said  about  the  sister  who 
had  insisted  upon  investing  their  little  property 
in  that  unlucky  bank.  We  were  later  in  light- 
ing the  candle  than  usual  that  night,  and  until 
that  light  shamed  us  into  speaking,  we  sat  to- 
gether very  silently  and  sadly. 

However,  we  took  to  our  work  after  tea  with 
a  kind  of  forced  cheerfulness  (which  soon  be- 
came real  as  far  as  it  went),  talking  of  that 
never-ending  wonder.  Lady  Gleumire's  engage- 
ment. Miss  Matty  was  almost  coming  round 
to  think  it  a  good  thing. 

"I  don't  mean  to  deny  that  men  are  trouble- 
some in  a  house.  I  don't  judge  from  my  own 
experience,  for  my  father  was  neatness  itself, 
and  wiped  his  shoes  on  coming  in  as  carefully 
as  any  woman;  but  still  a  man  has  a  .sort  of 
knowledge  of  what  should  be  done  in  difficul- 
ties, that  it  is  very  pleasant  to  have  one  at  hand 
ready  to  lean  upon.  Now,  Lady  Glenmire, 
instead  of  being  tos.sed  about,  and  wondering 
where  she  is  to  settle,  will  be  certain  of  a  home 
among  pleasant  and  kind  people,  such  as  our 
good  Miss  Pole  and  Mrs.  Forrester.  And  Mr. 
Hoggins  is  really  a  very  personable  man;  and 
as  for  his  manners — why,  if  they  are  not  very 
polished,  I  have  known  people  with  very  good 
hearts,  and  very  clever  minds  too,  who  were  not 


234 


CrantorD. 


what  some  people  reckoned  refined,  but  who 
were  both  true  and  tender." 

She  fell  ofi"  into  a  soft  reverie  about  Mr. 
Holbrook,  and  I  did  not  interrupt  her,  I  was  so 
busy  maturing  a  plan  I  had  had  in  my  mind 
for  some  daj-^s,  but  which  this  threatened  failure 
of  the  bank  had  brought  to  a  crisis.  That 
night,  after  Miss  Matty  went  to  bed,  I  treach- 
erously lighted  the  candle  again,  and  sat  down 
in  the  drawing-room  to  compose  a  letter  to  the 
Aga  Jenkyns — a  letter  which  should  affect 
him,  if  he  were  Peter,  and  3'et  seem  a  mere 
statement  of  dry  facts  if  he  were  a  stranger. 
The  church  clock  pealed  out  two  before  I  had 
done. 

The  next  morning  news  came,  both  oflBcial 
and  otherwise,  that  the  Town  and  County 
Bank  had  stopped  payment.  Miss  Matty  was 
ruined. 

She  tried  to  speak  quietly  to  me;  but  when 
she  came  to  the  actual  fact  that  she  would  have 
but  about  five  shillings  a  week  to  live  upon, 
she  could  not  restrain  a  few  tears. 

"I  am  not  crying  for  m5'self,  dear,"  said  she, 
wiping  them  away;  "  I  believe  I  am  cr>'ing  for 
the  verj--  sillj'^  thought  of  how  my  mother 
would  grieve  if  she  could  know — she  always 
cared  for  us  so  much  more  than  for  herself. 
But  many  a  poor  person  has  less;  and  I  am  not 
very  extravagant;  and,  thank  God,  when  the 
neck  of  mutton,  and  Martha's  wages,  and  the 
rent  are  paid,  I   have  not  a  farthing  owing. 


Stoppc&  ff^a^mcnt.  235 

Poor  Martha!     I  think  she'll  be  sorry  to  leave 
me." 

Miss  Matty  smiled  at  me  through  her  tears, 
and  she  would  fain  have  had  me  see  only  the 
smile,  not  the  tears. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


FRIENDS  IN   NEED. 


IT  was  an  example  to  me,  and  I  fancy  it  might 
be  to  many  others,  to  see  how  immediately 
Miss  Matty  set  about  the  retrenchment  which 
she  knew  to  be  right  under  her  altered  circum- 
stances. While  she  went  down  to  speak  to 
Martha,  and  break  the  intelligence  to  her,  I 
stole  out  with  my  letter  to  the  Aga  Jenkyns, 
and  went  to  the  signor's  lodgings  to  obtain  the 
exact  address.  I  bound  the  signora  to  secrecy; 
and  indeed  her  military  manners  had  a  degree 
of  shortness  and  reserve  in  them,  which  made 
her  alwa5'S  say  as  little  as  possible,  except  when 
under  the  pressure  of  strong  excitement.  More- 
over— (which  made  my  secret  doubly  sure) — 
the  signer  was  now  so  far  recovered  as  to  be 
looking  for\N-ard  to  travelling  and  conjuring 
again  in  the  space  of  a  few  days,  when  he,  his 
wife,  and  little  Phoebe,  would  leave  Cranford. 
Indeed,  I  found  him  looking  over  a  great  black 
and  red  placard,  in  which  the  Signor  Brunoni's 
accomplishments  were  set  forth,  and  to  which 
only  the  name  of  the  town  where  he  would 
next  display  them  was  wanting.  He  and  his 
wife  were  so  much  absorbed  in  deciding  where 
the  red  letters  would  come  in  with  most  effect 
(236) 


yrlenDs  (n  "WceJ).  237 

(it  might  have  been  the  Rubric  for  that  mat- 
ter), that  it  was  some  time  before  I  could  get 
my  question  asked  privately,  and  not  before  I 
had  given  several  decisions,  the  wisdom  of 
which  I  questioned  afterward  with  equal  sin- 
cerity as  soon  as  the  signor  threw  in  his  doubts 
and  reasons  on  the  important  subject.  At  last 
I  got  the  address,  spelled  by  sound;  and  very 
queer  it  looked!  I  dropped  it  in  the  post  on 
my  way  home;  and  then  for  a  minute  I  stood 
looking  at  the  wooden  pane,  with  a  gaping 
slit,  which  divided  me  from  the  letter,  but  a 
moment  ago  in  m}-  hand.  It  was  gone  from 
me  like  life — never  to  be  recalled.  It  would 
get  tossed  about  on  the  sea,  and  stained  with 
sea-waves  perhaps;  and  be  carried  among 
palm-trees,  and  scented  with  all  tropical  fra- 
grance; the  little  piece  of  paper,  but  an  hour 
ago  so  familiar  and  commonplace,  had  set  out 
on  its  race  to  the  strange  wild  countries  be- 
yond the  Ganges!  But  I  could  not  afford  to 
lose  much  time  on  this  speculation.  I  hastened 
home,  that  Miss  Matty  might  not  miss  me. 
Martha  opened  the  door  to  me,  her  face 
swollen  with  crying.  As  soon  as  .she  saw  me, 
she  burst  out  afresh,  and  taking  hold  of  my 
arm  she  pulled  me  in,  and  banged  the  door  to, 
in  order  to  ask  me  if  indeed  it  was  all  true  that 
Miss  Matty  had  been  saying. 

"I  '11  never  leave  her!  No!  I  won't!  I 
telled  her  so,  and  said  I  could  not  think  how 
she  could  find  in  her  heart  to  give  me  warning. 


23S  Crantor5. 

I  could  not  have  had  the  face  to  do  it,  if  I  'd 
been  her.  I  might  ha'  been  just  as  good-for- 
nothing  as  Mrs.  Fitz-Adam's  Rosy,  who  struck 
for  wages  after  living  seven  years  and  a  half 
in  one  place.  I  said  I  was  not  one  to  go  and 
serve  Mammon  at  that  rate;  that  I  knew  when 
I  'd  got  a  good  missus,  if  she  did  n't  know 
when  she  'd  got  a  good  ser\-ant " 

"  But  Martha,"  said  I,  cutting  in  while  she 
wiped  her  eyes. 

"Don't  'but  Martha'  me,"  she  replied  to 
ray  deprecatory  tone. 

' '  Listen  to  reason ' ' 

"I  '11  not  listen  to  reason,"  she  said,  now  in 
full  possession  of  her  voice,  which  had  been 
rather  choked  with  sobbing.  "  Reason  always 
means  what  some  one  else  has  got  to  say.  Now 
I  think  what  I  've  got  to  say  is  good  enough 
reason.  But,  reason  or  not,  I'll  say  it,  and  I'll 
stick  to  it.  I've  money  in  the  Savings'  Bank, 
and  I've  a  good  stock  of  clothes,  and  I'm  not 
going  to  leave  Miss  Matty.  No!  not  if  she 
gives  me  warning  every  hour  in  the  day!" 

She  put  her  arms  akimbo,  as  much  as  to  say 
she  defied  me;  and,  indeed,  I  could  hardly  tell 
how  to  begin  to  remonstrate  with  her,  so  much 
did  I  feel  that  Miss  Matty,  in  her  increasing  in- 
firmities, needed  the  attendance  of  this  kind 
and  faithful  woman. 

"Well!"  said  I,  at  last. 

"I'm  thankful  you  begin  with  'well!'  If 
you'd  ha'  begun  with  'but,'  as  you  did  afore, 


S'ricnOs  \n  1Flee5.  239 

I'd  uot  ha'  listened  to  you.  Now  you  may  go 
on." 

' '  I  know  you  would  be  a  great  loss  to  Miss 
Matty,  Martha " 

"  I  telled  her  so.  A  loss  she'd  never  cease 
to  be  sorry  for,"  broke  in  Martha  trium- 
phantly. 

"  Still  she  will  have  so  little — so  very  little — 
to  live  upon,  that  I  don't  see  just  now  how  she 
could  find  you  food  -she  will  even  be  pressed 
for  her  owu.  I  tell  you  this,  Martha,  because 
I  feel  you  are  like  a  friend  to  dear  Miss  Matty 
— but  you  know  she  might  not  like  to  have  it 
spoken  about." 

Apparently  this  was  even  a  blacker  view  of 
the  subject  than  Miss  Matty  had  presented  to 
her;  for  Martha  just  sat  down  on  the  first  chair 
that  came  to  her  hand,  and  cried  out  loud — 
(we  had  been  standing  in  the  kitchen). 

At  last  she  put  heraprou  down,  and  looking 
me  earnestly  in  the  face,  asked,  "  Was  that  the 
reason  Miss  Matty  wouldn't  order  a  pudding 
to-day  ?  She  said  she  had  no  great  fancy  for 
sweet  things,  and  you  and  she  would  just  have 
a  mutton  chop.  But  I'll  be  up  to  her.  Never 
you  tell,  but  I'll  make  her  a  pudding,  and  a 
pudding  she'll  like,  too,  and  I'll  pay  for  it  my- 
self; so  mind  you  see  .she  eats  it.  Many  a  one 
has  been  comforted  in  their  sorrow  by  seeing  a 
good  dish  come  upon  the  table." 

I  was  rather  glad  that  Martha's  energy  had 
taken  the  immediate  and  practical  direction  of 


240  CranfotO. 

pudding-making,  for  it  staved  off  the  quarrel- 
some discussion  as  to  whether  she  should  or 
should  not  leave  Miss  Matty's  service.  She 
began  to  tie  on  a  clean  apron,  and  otherwise 
prepare  herself  for  going  to  the  shop  for  the 
butter,  eggs,  and  what  else  she  might  require; 
she  would  not  use  a  scrap  of  the  articles  al- 
ready in  the  house  for  her  cookery,  but  went 
to  an  old  teapot  in  which  her  private  store  of 
money  was  deposited,  and  took  out  what  she 
wanted. 

I  found  Miss  Matty  very  quiet,  and  not  a  little 
sad;  but  by-and-by  she  tried  to  smile  for  my 
sake.  It  was  settled  that  I  was  to  write  to  my 
father,  and  ask  him  to  come  over  and  hold  a 
consultation;  and  as  soon  as  this  letter  was  dis- 
patched, we  began  to  talk  over  future  plans. 
Miss  Matty's  idea  was  to  take  a  single  room, 
and  retain  as  much  of  her  furniture  as  would 
be  necessary  to  fit  up  this,  and  sell  the  test; 
and  there  to  quietly  exist  upon  what  would 
remain  after  paying  the  rent.  For  my  part, 
I  was  more  ambitious  and  less  contented.  I 
thought  of  all  the  things  by  which  a  woman, 
past  middle  age,  and  with  the  education  com- 
mon to  ladies  fifty  j^ears  ago,  could  earn  or  add 
to  a  living,  without  materially  losing  caste;  but 
at  length  I  put  even  this  last  clause  on  one  side, 
and  wondered  what  in  the  world  Miss  Matty 
could  do. 

Teaching  was,  of  course,  the  first  thing  that 
suggested  itself.     If  Miss  Matty  could  teach 


jfrienDs  In  IRccD.  241 

children  anything,  it  would  throw  her  among 
the  little  elves  in  whom  her  soul  delighted.  I 
ran  over  her  accomplishments.  Once  upon  a 
time  I  had  heard  her  say  she  could  plaj',  ''Ah  ! 
vous  dirai-Je,  7nania7i  .^"  on  the  piano;  but  that 
was  long,  long  ago;  that  faint  shadow  of  mu- 
sical acquirement  had  died  out  years  before. 
She  had  also  once  been  able  to  trace  out  pat- 
terns very  nicely  for  muslin  embroidery,  by 
dint  of  placing  a  piece  of  silver-paper  over  the 
design  to  be  copied,  and  holding  both  against 
the  window-pane,  while  she  marked  the  scallop 
and  eyelet-holes.  But  that  was  her  nearest  ap- 
proach to  the  accomplishment  of  drawing,  and 
I  did  not  think  it  would  go  very  far.  Then 
again  as  to  the  branches  of  a  solid  English  ed- 
ucation— fancy  work  and  the  use  of  the  globes 
— such  as  the  mistress  of  the  Ladies'  Seminary, 
to  which  all  the  tradespeople  in  Cranford  sent 
their  daughters,  professed  to  teach;  Miss 
Matty's  eyes  were  failing  her,  and  I  doubted 
if  she  could  discover  the  number  of  threads  in 
a  worsted-work  pattern,  or  rightly  appreciate 
the  different  shades  required  for  Queen  Ade- 
laide's face,  in  the  loyal  wool-work  now  fash- 
ionable in  Cranford.  As  for  the  use  of  the 
globes,  I  had  never  been  able  to  find  it  out 
myself,  so  perhaps  I  was  not  a  good  judge  of 
Miss  Matty's  capability  of  instructing  in  this 
branch  of  education;  but  it  struck  me  that 
equators  and  tropics,  and  such  mystical  circles, 
were  very  imaginary  lines  indeed  to  her,  and 
16 


242 


Cranfor?. 


that  she  looked  upon  the  signs  of  the  Zodiac 
as  so  many  remnants  of  the  Black  Art. 

What  she  piqued  herself  upon,  as  arts  in 
which  she  excelled,  was  making  candle-light- 
ers, or  "spills"  (as  she  preferred  calling  them), 
of  colored  paper,  cut  so  as  to  resemble  feathers, 
and  knitting  garters  in  a  variety  of  dainty 
stitches.  I  had  once  said,  on  receiving  a  pres- 
ent of  an  elaborate  pair,  that  I  should  feel  quite 
tempted  to  drop  one  of  them  in  the  street,  in 
order  to  have  it  admired;  but  I  found  this  little 
joke  (and  it  was  a  very  little  one)  was  such  a 
distress  to  her  sense  of  propriety,  and  was  taken 
with  such  anxious,  earnest  alarm,  lest  the 
temptation  might  some  day  prove  too  strong 
for  me,  that  I  quite  regretted  having  ventured 
upon  it.  A  present  of  these  delicately-wrought 
garters,  a  bunch  of  gay  "  spills,"  or  a  set  of 
cards  on  which  sewing-silk  was  wound  in  a 
mystical  manner,  were  the  well-known  tokens 
of  Miss  Matty's  favor.  But  would  any  one  pay 
to  have  their  children  taught  these  arts  ?  or,  in- 
deed, would  Miss  Matty  sell,  for  filthy  lucre, 
the  knack  and  the  skill  with  which  she  made 
trifles  of  value  to  those  who  loved  her  ? 

I  had  to  come  down  to  reading,  writing,  and 
arithmetic  ;  and,  in  reading  the  chapter  every 
morning,  she  always  coughed  before  coming  to 
long  words.  I  doubted  her  power  of  getting 
through  a  genealogical  chapter,  with  any  num- 
ber of  coughs.  Writing  she  did  well  and  deli- 
cately ;  but  spelling !     She  seemed  to  think 


3fr(cn&3  In  fllecO.  243 

that  the  more  out-of-the-way  this  was,  and  the 
more  trouble  it  cost  her,  the  greater  the  com- 
pHment  she  paid  to  her  correspondent ;  and 
words  that  she  would  spell  quite  correctly  in 
her  letters  to  me,  became  perfect  enigmas  when 
she  wrote  to  my  father. 

No!  there  was  nothing  she  could  teach  to  the 
rising  generation  of  Cranford  ;  unless  they  had 
been  quick  learners  and  ready  imitators  of  her 
patience,  her  humility,  her  sweetness,  her  quiet 
contentment  with  all  that  she  could  not  do.  1 
pondered  and  pondered  until  dinner  was  an- 
nounced by  Martha,  with  a  face  all  blubbered 
and  swollen  with  crying. 

Miss  Matty  had  a  few  little  peculiarities, 
which  Martha  was  apt  to  regard  as  whims  be- 
low her  attention,  and  appeared  to  consider  as 
childish  fancies,  of  which  an  old  lady  of  fifty- 
eight  should  try  and  cure  herself.  But  to-day 
everything  was  attended  to  with  the  most  care- 
ful regard.  The  bread  was  cut  to  the  imagin- 
ary pattern  of  excellence  that  existed  in  Miss 
Matty's  mind,  as  being  the  way  which  her 
mother  had  preferred  ;  the  curtain  was  drawn 
so  as  to  exclude  the  dead-brick  wall  of  a  neigh- 
bor's stables,  and  yet  left  so  as  to  show  every 
tender  leaf  of  the  poplar  which  was  bursting 
into  spring  beauty.  Martha's  tone  to  Miss 
Matty  was  just  such  as  that  good,  rough-spoken 
servant  usually  kept  sacred  for  little  children, 
and  which  I  had  never  heard  her  use  to  any 
grown-up  person. 


244 


CranforD. 


I  had  forgotten  to  tell  Miss  Matty  about  the 
piiddiug,  and  I  was  afraid  she  might  not  do 
justice  to  it;  for  she  had  evidently  very  little 
appetite  this  day;  so  I  seized  the  opportunity 
of  letting  her  into  the  secret  while  Martha  took 
away  the  meat.  Miss  Matty's  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  and  she  could  not  speak,  either  to  express 
surprise  or  delight,  when  Martha  returned, 
bearing  it  aloft,  made  in  the  most  wonderful 
representation  of  a  lion  coiuhant  that  ever  was 
moulded.  Martha's  face  gleamed  with  tri- 
umph, as  she  set  it  down  before  Miss  Matty  with 
an  exultant  "There! "  Miss  Matty  wanted  to 
speak  her  thanks,  but  could  not;  so  she  took 
Martha's  hand  and  shook  it  warmly,  which  set 
Martha  off  crj'ing,  and  I  mj'self  could  hardly 
keep  up  the  necessary  composure.  Martha 
burst  out  of  the  room;  and  Miss  Matty  had  to 
clear  her  voice  once  or  twice  before  she  could 
speak.  At  last  she  said,  "I  should  like  to 
keep  this  pudding  under  a  glass  shade,  my 
dear!"  and  the  notion  of  the  lion  couchani  v^'x^ 
his  currant  eyes,  being  hoisted  up  to  the  place 
of  honor  on  a  mantel-piece,  tickled  my  hyster- 
ical fanc5%  and  I  began  to  laugh,  which  rather 
surprised  Miss  Matty. 

"  I  am  sure,  dear,  I  have  seen  uglier  things 
under  a  glass  shade  before  now,"  said  she. 

So  had  I,  many  a  time  and  oft;  and  I  accord- 
ingly composed  my  countenance  (and  now  I 
could  hardly  keep  from  crying),  and  we  both 
fell  to  upon  the  pudding,  which  was  indeed  ex- 


JrlenOs  fn  IRceD.  245 

cellent — only  every  morsel  seemed  to  choke  us, 
our  hearts  were  so  full. 

We  had  too  much  to  think  about  to  talk 
much  that  afternoon.  It  passed  over  very  tran- 
quilly. But  when  the  tea-urn  was  brought  in, 
a  new  thought  came  into  my  head.  Why 
should  not  Miss  Matty  sell  tea — be  an  agent  to 
the  East  India  Tea  Company  which  then  ex- 
isted ?  I  could  see  no  objections  to  this  plan, 
while  the  advantages  were  many — always  sup- 
posing that  Miss  Matty  could  get  over  the  deg- 
radation of  condescending  to  anything  like 
trade.  Tea  was  neither  greasy  nor  sticky- 
grease  and  stickiness  being  two  of  the  qualities 
which  Miss  Matty  could  not  endure.  No  shop- 
window  would  be  required.  A  small  genteel 
notification  of  her  being  licensed  to  sell  tea 
would,  it  is  true,  be  necessary;  but  I  hoped 
that  it  could  be  placed  where  no  one  could  see 
it.  Neither  was  tea  a  heavy  article,  so  as  to 
tax  Miss  Matty's  fragile  strength.  The  only 
thing  against  my  plan  was  the  buying  and  sell- 
ing involved. 

While  I  was  giving  but  absent  answers  to  the 
questions  Miss  Matty  was  putting  almost  as 
absently,  we  heard  a  clumping  sound  on  the 
stairs,  and  a  whispering  outside  the  door, 
which  indeed  once  opened  and  shut  as  if  by 
some  invisible  agencj'.  After  a  little  while, 
Martha  came  in,  dragging  after  her  a  great 
tall  young  man,  all  crimson  with  shyness,  and 
finding  his  only  relief  in  perpetually  sleeking 
down  his  hair. 


246  CranforO. 

'*  Please,  ma'am,  he's  onW  Jim  Hearn,"  said 
Martha,  by  way  of  an  introduction;  and  so  out 
of  breath  was  she,  that  I  imagine  she  had  had 
some  bodily  struggle  before  she  could  overcome 
his  reluctance  to  be  presented  on  the  courtly 
scene  of  Miss  Matilda  Jenkyns'  drawing-room. 

"And  please,  ma'am,  he  wants  to  marry  me 
off  hand.  And  please,  ma'am,  we  want  to  take 
a  lodger — just  one  quiet  lodger,  to  make  our 
two  ends  meet;  and  we'd  take  any  house  con- 
formable; and,  oh  dear  Miss  Matty,  if  I  may 
be  so  bold,  would  you  have  any  objections  to 
lodging  with  us  ?  Jim  wants  it  as  much  as  I 
do."  (.To  Jim:)  "You  great  oaf!  why  can't 
you  back  me?  But  he  does  want  it,  all  the 
same,  very  bad — don't  you  Jim? — only,  you 
see,  he's  dazed  at  being  called  on  to  speak 
before  quality." 

"It's  not  that,"  broke  in  Jim.  "It's  that 
you've  taken  me  all  on  a  sudden,  and  I  didn't 
think  for  to  get  married  so  soon — and  such 
quick  work  does  flabbergast  a  man.  It's  npt 
that  I'm  against  it,  ma'am  "  (addressing  Miss 
Matty),  "only  Martha  has  such  quick  ways 
with  her,  when  once  she  takes  a  thing  into  her 
head;  and  marriage,  ma'am — marriage  nails  a 
man,  as  one  may  say.  I  dare  say  I  .sha'n't 
mind  it  after  it's  once  over." 

"Please,  ma'am,"  said  Martha— rwho  had 
plucked  at  his  sleeve,  and  nudged  him  with 
her  elbow,  and  othenvise  tried  to  interrupt  him 
all  the  time  he  had  been   speaking — "don't 


IFricnDa  in  BecD.  247 


mind  him;  he'll  come  to;  't  was  only  last 
night  he  was  an-axing  me,  and  an-axing  me, 
and  all  the  more  because  I  said  I  could  not 
think  of  it  for  years  to  come,  and  now  he's 
only  taken  aback  with  the  suddenness  of  the 
joy!  but  you  know,  Jim,  you  are  just  as  full  as 
me  about  wanting  a  lodger. ' '  (Another  great 
nudge.) 

' '  Ay !  if  Miss  Matty  would  lodge  with  us— 
otherwise  I've  no  mind  to  be  cumbered  with 
strange  folk  in  the  house."  said  Jim,  with  a 
want  of  tact  which  I  could  see  enraged  Martha, 
who  was  trj'ing  to  represent  a  lodger  as  the 
great  object  they  wished  to  obtain,  and  that,  in 
fact,  Miss  Matty  would  be  smoothing  their 
path  and  conferring  a  favor  if  she  would  only 
come  and  live  with  them. 

Miss  Matty  herself  was  bewildered  by  the 
pair;  their,  or  rather  Martha's  sudden  resolu- 
tion in  favor  of  matrimony  staggered  her,  and 
stood  between  her  and  the  contemplation  of 
the  plan  which  Martha  had  at  heart.  Miss 
Matty  began: 

"  Marriage  is  a  very  solemn  thing,  Martha." 

"It  is  indeed,  ma'am,"  quoth  Jim.  "Not 
that  I  've  no  objections  to  Martha." 

"  You've  never  let  me  a-be  for  asking  me  for 
to  fix  when  I  would  be  married,"  said  Martha, 
her  face  all  afire,  and  ready  to  cry  with  vexa- 
tion, "  and  now  you're  shaming  me  before  my 
missus  and  all." 

"Na)'^,  now!     Martha,  don't  ee!  don't  ee ! 


248  CtantorD. 

only  a  man  likes  to  have  breathing-time," 
said  Jim,  trying  to  possess  himself  of  her  hand, 
but  in  vain.  Then,  seeing  that  she  was  more 
seriously  hurt  than  he  had  imagined,  he  seemed 
to  tr}'-  to  rally  his  scattered  faculties,  and  with 
more  straightforward  dignity  than,  ten  minutes 
before,  I  should  have  thought  it  possible  for 
him  to  assume,  he  turned  to  Miss  Matty,  and 
said,  "  I  hope,  ma'am,  you  know  that  I  am 
bound  to  respect  every  one  who  has  been  kind 
to  Martha.  I  always  looked  on  her  as  to  be 
my  wife — some  time;  and  she  has  often  and 
often  spoken  of  you  as  the  kindest  lady  that 
ever  was;  and  though  the  plain  truth  is  I 
would  not  like  to  be  troubled  with  lodgers  of 
the  common  run,  yet  if,  ma'am,  you'd  honor 
us  by  living  with  us,  I'm  sure  Martha  would 
do  her  best  to  make  j^ou  comfortable;  and  I  'd 
keep  out  of  your  way  as  much  as  I  could, 
which  I  reckon  would  be  the  best  kindness 
such  an  awkward  chap  as  me  could  do." 

Miss  Matty  had  been  very  busy  with  taking 
off  her  spectacles,  wiping  them,  and  replacing 
them;  but  all  she  could  say  was,  "  Don't  let 
any  thought  of  me  hurry  5'ou  into  marriage  ; 
pray  don't!  Marriage  is  such  a  very  solemn 
thing!" 

"  But  Miss  Matilda  will  think  of  your  plan, 
Martha,"  said  I,  struck  with  the  advantages 
that  it  offered,  and  unwilling  to  lose  the  oppor- 
tunit}^  of  considering  about  it.  "And  I  'ra 
sure  neither  she  nor  I  can  ever  forget  your 
kindness;  nor  yours  either,  Jim." 


jfrfcnOs  In  IFlecO.  249 

"Why,  yes,  ma'am!  I  'm  sure  I  mean 
kindly,  though  I  'm  a  bit  fluttered  by  being 
pushed  straight  ahead  into  matrimony,  as  it 
were,  and  may  n't  express  myself  conformable. 
But  I  'm  sure  I  'm  willing  enough,  and  give 
me  time  to  get  accustomed;  so,  Martha, 
wench,  what  's  the  use  of  crying  so,  and 
slapping  me  if  I  come  near?" 

This  last  was  sotto  voce,  and  had  the  effect  of 
making  Martha  bounce  out  of  the  room,  to  be 
followed  and  soothed  by  her  lover.  Where- 
upon Miss  Matty  sat  down  and  cried  very  heart- 
ily, and  accounted  for  it  by  saying  that  the 
thought  of  Martha  being  married  so  soon  gave 
her  quite  a  shock,  and  that  she  should  never 
ibrgive  herself  if  she  thought  she  was  hurrying 
the  poor  creature.  I  think  my  pity  was  more 
for  Jim,  of  the  two;  but  both  Miss  Matty  and 
I  appreciated  to  the  full  the  kindness  of  the 
honest  couple,  although  we  said  little  about 
this,  and  a  good  deal  about  the  chances  and 
dangers  of  matrimony. 

The  next  morning,  very  early,  I  received  a 
note  from  Miss  Pole,  so  mysteriously  wrapped 
up,  and  with  so  many  seals  on  it  to  secure 
secrecy,  that  I  had  to  tear  the  paper  before  I 
could  unfold  it.  And  when  I  came  to  the  writ- 
ing, I  could  hardly  understand  the  meaning,  it 
was  so  involved  and  oracular.  I  made  out, 
however,  that  I  was  to  go  to  Miss  Pole's  at 
eleven  o'clock;  the  number  eleven  being  writ- 
ten in  full  length  as  well  as  iu  numerals,  and 


250 


Cranforo. 


A.  M.  twice  dashed  under,  as  if  I  were  very 
likel}^  to  come  at  eleven  at  night,  when  all 
Cranford  was  usually  abed  and  asleep  by  ten. 
There  was  no  signature,  except  Miss  Pole's 
initials,  reversed,  P.  E.;  but  as  Martha  had 
given  me  the  note,  "with  Miss  Pole's  kind 
regards,"  it  needed  no  wizard  to  find  out  who 
sent  it;  ^nd  if  the  writer's  name  was  to  be 
kept  secret,  it  was  verj^  well  that  I  was  alone 
when  Martha  delivered  it. 

I  went,  as  requested,  to  Miss  Pole's.  The 
door  was  opened  to  me  by  her  little  maid 
Lizzy,  in  Sunday  trim,  as  if  some  grand  event 
was  impending  over  this  work-day.  And  the 
drawing-room  upstairs  was  arranged  in  ac- 
cordance with  this  idea.  The  table  was  set  out 
with  the  best  green  card-cloth,  and  writing 
materials  upon  it.  On  the  little  chiffonier  was 
a  tray,  with  a  newly-decanted  bottle  of  cowslip 
wine,  and  some  ladies'-finger  biscuits.  Miss 
Pole  herself  was  in  solemn  arra}%  as  if  to  re- 
ceive visitors,  although  it  was  only  eleven 
o'clock.  Mrs.  Forrester  was  there,  crying 
quietly  and  sadly,  and  my  arrival  seemed  onl}'' 
to  call  forth  fresh  tears.  Before  we  had  fin- 
ished our  greetings,  performed  with  lugubrious 
mystery  of  aemeanor,  there  was  another  rat- 
tat-tat,  and  Mrs.  Fitz-Adam  appeared,  crimson 
with  walking  and  excitement.  It  seemed  as 
if  this  was  all  the  company  expected;  for  now 
Miss  Pole  made  several  demonstrations  of  be- 
ing about  to  open  the  business  of  the  meeting, 


jfrieuDiJ  In  IWceD.  251 

by  stirring  the  fire,  opening  and  shutting  the 
door,  and  coughing  and  blowing  her  nose. 
Then  she  arranged  us  all  around  the  table, 
taking  care  to  place  me  opposite  to  her;  and 
last  of  all,  she  inquired  of  me  if  the  sad  report 
was  true,  as  she  feared  it  was,  that  Miss  Matty 
had  lost  all  her  fortune  ? 

Of  course  I  had  but  one  answer  to  make; 
and  I  never  saw  more  unaffected  sorrow  de- 
picted on  any  countenances,  than  I  did  there 
on  the  three  before  me. 

"I  wish  Mrs.  Jaraieson  was  here! "  said  Mrs. 
Forrester  at  last;  but,  to  judge  from  Mrs.  Fitz- 
Adam's  face,  she  could  not  second  the  wish. 

"But  without  Mrs.  Jamieson,"  said  Miss 
Pole,  with  just  a  sound  of  oflFended  merit  in 
her  voice,  "  we,  the  ladies  of  Cranford,  in  my 
drawing-room  assembled,  can  resolve  upon 
something.  I  imagine  we  are  none  of  us  what 
may  be  called  rich,  though  we  all  possess  a 
genteel  competency,  sufiicient  for  tastes  that 
are  elegant  and  refined,  and  would  not,  if  they 
could,  be  vulgarly  ostentatious."  (Here  I  ob- 
served Miss  Pole  refer  to  a  small  card  concealed 
in  her  hand,  on  which  I  imagine  she  had  put 
down  a  few  notes.) 

"Miss  Smith,"  she  continued,  addressing 
me  (familiarly  known  as  "Mary"  to  all  the 
company  assembled,  but  this  was  a  state  occa- 
sion), "I  have  conversed  in  private — I  made 
it  my  business  to  do  so  yesterday  afternoon — 
with  these  ladies  on  the  misfortune  which  has 


252  CranforD. 

happened  to  our  friend — and  one  and  all  of  us 
have  agreed  that,  while  we  have  a  superfluity, 
it  is  not  only  a  duty,  but  a  pleasure— a  true 
pleasure,  Mary ! " — her  voice  was  rather  choked 
just  here,  and  she  had  to  wipe  her  spectacles 
before  she  could  go  on — "  to  give  what  we  can 
to  assist  her — Miss  Matilda  Jenkyns.  Only, 
in  consideration  of  the  feelings  of  delicate  in- 
dependence existing  in  the  mind  of  every  re- 
fined female  " — I  was  sure  she  had  got  back  to 
the  card  now — "we  wish  to  contribute  our 
mites  in  a  secret  and  concealed  manner,  so  as 
not  to  hurt  the  feelings  I  have  referred  to. 
And  our  object  in  requesting  you  to  meet  us 
this  morning,  is,  that  believing  you  are  the 
daughter — that  your  father  is,  in  fact,  her  con- 
fidential adviser  in  all  pecuniary  matters,  we 
imagined  that,  by  consulting  with  him,  you 
might  devise  some  mode  in  which  our  contri- 
butions could  be  made  to  appear  the  legal  due 
which  Miss  Matilda  Jenkjms  ought  to  receive 

from  .     Probably   your    father,    knowing 

her  investments,  can  fill  up  the  blank." 

Miss  Pole  concluded  her  address,  and  looked 
round  for  approval  and  agreement. 

"  I  have  expressed  j'our  meaning,  ladies, 
have  I  not  ?  And  while  Miss  Smith  considers 
what  reply  to  make,  allow  me  to  offer  you 
some  little  refreshment." 

I  had  no  great  reply  to  make;  I  had  more 
thankfulness  at  my  heart  for  their  kind 
thoughts  than  I  cared  to  put  into  words;  and 


3fr{cn5fl  in  "fflceJ).  253 


so  I  only  mumbled  out  something  to  the  effect 
"that  I  would  name  what  Miss  Pole  had  said 
to  my  father,  and  that  if  anything  could  be 
arranged  for  dear  Miss  Matty — "  and  here  I 
broke  down  utterly,  and  had  to  be  refreshed 
with  a  glass  of  cowslip  wine  before  I  could 
check  the  cr3dug  which  had  been  repressed  for 
the  last  two  or  three  days.  The  worst  was,  all 
the  ladies  cried  in  concert.  Even  Miss  Pole 
cried,  who  had  said  a  hundred  times  that  to 
betray  emotion  before  any  one  was  a  sign  of 
weakness  and  want  of  self-control.  She  re- 
covered herself  into  a  slight  degree  of  impa 
tient  anger,  directed  against  me  as  having  set 
them  all  off;  and,  moreover,  I  think  she  was 
vexed  that  I  could  not  make  a  speech  back  in 
return  for  hers;  and  if  I  had  known  beforehand 
what  was  to  be  said,  and  had  had  a  card  on 
which  to  express  the  probable  feelings  that 
would  rise  in  my  heart,  I  would  have  tried  to 
gratify  her.  As  it  was,  Mrs.  Forrester  was  the 
person  to  speak  when  we  had  recovered  our 
composure. 

"  I  don't  mind,  among  friends,  stating  that 
I — no!  I'm  not  poor  exactly,  but  I  don't  think 
I'm  what  you  may  call  rich;  I  wish  I  were,  for 
dear  Miss  Matty's  sake — but,  if  you  please,  I'll 
write  down,  in  a  sealed  paper,  what  I  can  give. 
I  only  wish  it  was  more,  my  dear  Mary,  I  do 
indeed." 

Now  I  saw  why  paper,  pens,  and  ink  were 
provided.     Every  lady  wrote  down  the  sum 


254 


CranforD/ 


she  could  giv^e  annually,  signed  the  paper,  and 
sealed  it  mysteriously.  If  their  proposal  was 
acceded  to,  my  father  was  to  be  allowed  to 
open  the  papers  under  pledge  of  secrecy.  If 
not,  they  were  to  be  returned  to  their  writers. 

When  this  ceremony  had  been  gone  through, 
I  rose  to  depart;  but  each  lady  seemed  to  wish 
to  have  a  private  conference  with  me.  Miss 
Pole  kept  me  in  the  drawing-room  to  explain 
why,  in  Mrs.  Jamieson's  absence,  she  had 
taken  the  lead  in  this  "movement,"  as  she  was 
pleased  to  call  it,  and  also  to  inform  me  that 
she  had  heard  from  good  sources  that  Mrs. 
Jamieson  was  coming  home  directly  in  a  state 
of  high  displeasure  against  her  sister-in-law, 
who  was  forthwith  to  leave  her  house;  and 
was,  she  believed,  to  return  to  Edinburgh  that 
very  afternoon.  Of  course,  this  piece  of  intelli- 
gence could  not  be  communicated  before  Mrs. 
Fitz-Adam,  more  especially  as  Miss  Pole  was 
inclined  to  think  that  L,ady  Glenmire's  en- 
gagement to  Mr.  Hoggins  could  not  possibly 
hold  against  the  blaze  of  Mrs.  Jamieson's  dis- 
pleasure. A  few  hearty  inquiries  after  Miss 
Matty's  health  concluded  my  interview  with 
Miss  Pole. 

On  coming  down  stairs,  I  found  Mrs.  For- 
rester waiting  for  me  at  the  entrance  to  the 
dining-parlor.  She  drew  me  in,  and  when  the 
door  was  shut,  she  tried  two  or  three  times  to 
begin  on  some  subject,  which  was  so  unap- 
proachable apparently,  that  I  began  to  despair 


3fricn&6  in  IRecD. 


255 


of  our  ever  getting  to  a  clear  understanding. 
At  last  out  it  came ;  the  poor  old  lady  trem- 
bling all  the  time  as  if  it  were  a  great  crime 
which  she  was  exposing  to  daylight  in  telling 
me  how  very,  very  little  she  had  to  live  upon  ; 
a  confession  which  she  was  brought  to  make 
from  a  dread  lest  we  should  think  that  the  small 
contribution  named  in  her  paper  bore  any  pro- 
portion to  her  love  and  regard  for  Miss  Matty. 
And  yet  that  sum  which  she  so  eagerly  relin- 
quished was,  in  truth,  more  than  a  twentieth 
part  of  what  she  had  to  live  upon,  and  keep 
house,  and  a  little  serving-maid,  all  as  became 
one  boni  a  Tyrrel.  And  when  the  whole  in- 
come does  not  nearly  amount  to  a  hundred 
pounds,  to  give  up  a  twentieth  part  of  it  will 
necessitate  many  careful  economies,  and  many 
pieces  of  self-denial — small  and  insignificant,  in 
the  world's  account,  but  bearing  a  different 
value  in  another  account-book  that  I  have 
heard  of.  She  did  so  wish  she  was  rich,  she 
said  ;  and  this  wish  she  kept  repeating,  with 
no  thought  of  herself  in  it,  only  with  a  longing, 
yearning  desire  to  be  able  to  heap  up  Miss 
Matty's  measure  of  comforts. 

It  was  some  time  before  I  could  console  her 
enough  to  leave  her  ;  and  then,  on  quitting  the 
house,  I  was  waylaid  by  Mrs.  Fitz-Adam,  who 
had  also  her  confidence  to  make,  of  pretty  nearly 
the  opposite  description.  She  had  not  liked  to 
put  down  all  that  she  could  afford  and  was 
ready  to  give.     She  told  me  she  thought  she 


256  Crantoro. 

never  could  look  Miss  Matty  in  the  face  again 
if  she  presumed  to  be  giving  her  so  much  as  she 
should  like  to  do.  "Miss  Matty,"  continued 
she,  ' '  that  I  thought  was  such  a  fine  young 
lad}-,  when  I  was  nothing  but  a  country  girl, 
coming  to  market  with  eggs  and  butter,  and 
such  like  things.  For  my  father,  though  well 
to  do,  would  always  make  me  go  on  as  my 
mother  had  done  before  me  ;  and  I  had  to  come 
in  to  Cranford  every  Saturday  and  see  after 
sales  and  prices,  and  what  not.  And  one  day,  I 
remember,  I  met  Miss  Matt}'  in  the  lane  that 
leads  to  Combehurst ;  she  was  walking  on  the 
footpath,  which,  you  know,  is  raised  a  good 
way  above  the  road,  and  a  gentleman  rode  be- 
side her,  and  was  talking  to  her,  and  she  was 
looking  down  at  some  primroses  she  had  gath- 
ered, and  pulling  them  all  to  pieces,  and  I 
do  believe  she  was  crying.  But  after  she  had 
passed,  she  turned  round  and  ran  after  me  to 
ask — oh?  so  kindly — after  my  poor  mother, 
who  lay  on  her  deathbed;  and  when  I  cried, 
she  took  hold  of  my  hand  to  comfort  me;  and 
the  gentleman  waiting  for  her  all  the  time;  and 
her  poor  heart  very  full  of  something,  I  am 
sure;  and  I  thought  it  such  an  honor  to  be 
spoken  to  in  that  pretty  way  by  the  rector's 
daughter,  who  visited  at  Arley  Hall.  I  have 
loved  her  ever  since,  though,  perhaps,  I  'd  no 
right  to  do  it;  but  if  you  can  think  of  any  way 
in  which  1  might  be  allowed  to  give  a  little 
more  without  any  one  knowing  it,  I  should  be 


JrienOs  in  IReeO.  257 


so  much  obliged  to  you,  my  dear.  And  mj'' 
brother  would  be  delighted  to  doctor  her  for 
nothing — medicines,  leeches,  and  all.  I  know 
that  he  and  her  ladyship — (my  dear!  I  little 
thought  in  the  days  I  was  telling  yoa  of  that 
I  should  ever  come  to  be  sister-in-law  to  a 
ladyship!) — would  do  anything  for  her.  We 
all  would." 

I  told  her  I  was  quite  sure  of  it,  and  prom- 
ised all  sorts  of  things,  in  my  anxiety  to  get 
home  to  Miss  Matty,  who  might  well  be  won- 
dering what  had  become  of  me — absent  from 
her  two  hours  without  being  able  to  account 
for  it.  She  had  taken  very  little  note  of  time, 
however,  as  she  had  been  occupied  in  number- 
less little  arrangements  preparatory  to  the 
great  step  of  giving  up  her  house.  It  was  evi- 
dently a  relief  to  her  to  be  doing  something  in 
the  way  of  retrenchment;  for,  as  she  said, 
whenever  she  paused  to  think,  the  recollection 
of  the  poor  fellow  with  his  bad  five-pound 
note  came  over  her,  and  she  felt  quite  dis- 
honest; only  if  it  made  her  so  uncomfortable, 
what  must  it  not  be  doing  to  the  directors  of 
the  bank,  who  must  know  so  much  more  of  the 
misery  consequent  upon  this  failure?  She  al- 
most made  me  angry  by  dividing  her  sympathy 
between  these  directors  (whom  she  imagined 
overwhelmed  by  self-reproach  for  the  misman- 
agement of  other  people's  affairs),  and  those 
who  were  suffering  like  her.  Indeed,  of  the 
two,  she  seemed  to  think  poverty  a  lig]'«:cr 
17 


258  CrantorO, 

burden  than  self-reproach;  but  I  privately 
doubted  if  the  directors  would  agree  with  her. 

Old  hoards  were  taken  out  and  examined  as 
to  their  uionej'  value,  which  luckily  was  small, 
01  else  I  don't  know  how  Miss  Matty  would 
have  prevailed  upon  herself  to  part  with  such 
things  as  her  mother's  wedding-ring,  the 
strange,  uncouth  brooch  with  which  her 
father  had  disfigured  his  shirt-frill,  etc.  How- 
ever, we  arranged  things  a  little  in  order  as  to 
their  pecuniary  estimation,  and  were  all  ready 
for  my  father  when  he  came  the  next  morning. 

I  am  not  going  to  weary  you  with  the  details 
of  all  the  business  we  went  through;  and  one 
reason  for  not  telling  about  them  is,  that  I  did 
not  understand  what  we  were  doing  at  the 
time,  and  cannot  recollect  it  now.  Miss  Matty 
and  I  sat  assenting  to  accounts,  and  schemes, 
and  reports,  and  documents,  of  which  I  do  not 
believe  we  either  of  us  understood  a  word;  for 
my  father  was  clear-headed  and  decisive,  and 
a  capital  man  of  business,  and  if  we  made  the 
slightest  inquiry,  or  expressed  the  slightest 
want  of  comprehension,  he  had  a  sharp  way  of 
saying,  "Eh?  eh?  it's  as  clear  as  daylight. 
What's  your  objection?"  And  as  we  had  not 
comprehended  anything  of  what  he  had  pro- 
posed, we  found  it  rather  difficult  to  shape  our 
objections;  in  fact,  we  never  were  sure  if  we 
had  any.  So  presently  Miss  Matty  got  into  a 
nervousl}^  acquiescent  state,  and  said,  "Yes," 
and  "Certainly,"  at  every  pause,  whether  re- 


jprlenOs  in  IReeO.  259 

quired  or  not;  but  when  I  once  joined  in  as 
chorus  to  a  "Decidedly,"  pronounced  by  Miss 
Matty  in  a  tremblingly  dubious  tone,  my  father 
fired  round  at  me,  and  asked  me  "  What  there 
v.'as  to  decide?"  And  I  am  sure,  to  this  day, 
I  have  never  known.  But,  in  justice  to  him, 
I  must  say,  he  had  come  over  from  Drumble  to 
help  Miss  Matty  when  he  could  ill  spare  the 
time,  and  when  his  own  affairs  were  in  a  very 
anxious  state. 

While  Miss  Matty  was  out  of  the  room,  giv- 
ing orders  for  luncheon — and  sadly  perplexed 
between  her  desire  of  honoring  my  father  by  a 
delicate,  dainty  meal,  and  her  conviction  that 
she  had  no  right,  now  that  all  her  money  was 
gone,  to  indulge  this  desire — I  told  him  of  the 
meeting  of  Cranford  ladies  at  Miss  Pole's  the 
daj'  before.  He  kept  brushing  his  hand  before 
his  eyes  as  I  spoke;  and  when  I  went  back  to 
Martha's  offer  the  evening  before,  of  receiving 
Miss  Matty  as  a  lodger,  he  fairly  walked  away 
from  me  to  the  window,  and  began  drumming 
with  his  fingers  upon  it.  Then  he  turned  ab- 
ruptly round,  and  said,  "See,  Mary,  how  a 
good  innocent  life  makes  friends  all  around. 
Confound  it!  I  could  make  a  good  lesson  out  of 
it  if  I  were  a  parson;  but  as  it  is,  I  can't  get  a 
tail  to  my  sentences — only  1  'm  sure  you  feel 
what  I  want  to  say.  You  and  I  will  have  a 
walk  after  lunch,  and  talk  a  bit  more  about 
these  plans. ' ' 

The  lunch — a  hot,  savory  mutton  chop,  and  a 


26o  CranforO. 

little  of  the  cold  lion  sliced  and  fried — was  now 
brought  in.  Every  morsel  of  this  last  dish  was 
finished,  to  Martha's  great  gratification.  Then 
my  father  bluntly  told  Miss  Matty  he  wanted 
to  talk  to  me  alone,  and  that  he  would  stroll 
out  and  see  some  of  the  old  places,  and  then  1 
could  tell  her  what  plan  we  thought  desirable. 
Just  before  we  went  out,  she  called  me  back 
and  said,  "  Remember,  dear,  I  'mthe  only  one 
left — I  mean  there's  no  one  to  be  hurt  by  what 
I  do.  I  'm  willing  to  do  anything  that's  right 
and  honest;  and  I  don't  think,  if  Deborah 
knows  where  she  is,  she'll  care  so  very  much 
if  I  'm  not  genteel;  because,  you  see,  she'll 
know  all,  dear.  Only  let  me  see  what  I  can, 
and  pay  the  poor  people  as  far  as  I  'm  able." 

I  gave  her  a  heart}^  kiss,  and  ran  after  my 
father.  The  result  of  our  conversation  was 
this.  If  all  parties  were  agreeable,  Martha 
and  Jim  were  to  be  married  with  as  little  delay 
as  possible,  and  they  were  to  live  on  in  Miss 
Matty's  present  abode;  the  sum  which  the 
Cranford  ladies  had  agreed  to  contribute  an- 
nually being  sufficient  to  meet  the  greater  part 
of  the  rent,  and  leaving  Martha  free  to  appro- 
priate what  Miss  Matty  should  pay  for  her 
lodgings  to  any  little  extra  comforts  required. 
About  the  sale,  my  father  was  dubious  at  first. 
He  said  the  old  Rectory  furniture,  however 
carefully  used,  and  reverentlj^  treated,  would 
fetch  very  little;  and  that  little  would  be  but 
as  a  drop  in  the  sea  of  the  debts  of  the  Towu 


3fdcnD3  in  H^ecJ).  261 

and  County  Bank.  But  when  I  represented 
how  Miss  Matty's  tender  conscience  would  be 
soothed  by  feeling  that  she  had  done  what  she 
could,  he  gave  way;  especially  after  I  had  told 
him  the  five-pound-note  adventure,  and  he  had 
scolded  me  well  for  allowing  it.  I  then  alluded 
to  my  idea  that  she  might  add  to  her  small  in- 
come by  selling  tea;  and,  to  my  surprise  (for  I 
had  nearly  given  up  the  plan),  ray  father 
grasped  at  it  with  all  the  energy  of  a  trades- 
man. I  think  he  reckoned  his  chickens  before 
they  were  hatched,  for  he  immediately  ran  up 
the  profits  of  the  sales  that  she  could  effect  in 
Cranford  to  more  than  twenty  pounds  a  year. 
The  small  dining-parlor  was  to  be  converted 
into  a  shop,  without  any  of  its  degrading  char- 
acteristics; a  table  was  to  be  the  counter;  one 
window  was  to  be  retained  unaltered,  and  the 
other  changed  into  a  glass  door.  I  evidently 
rose  in  his  estimation  for  having  made  this 
bright  suggestion.  I  only  hoped  we  should 
not  both  fall  in  Miss  Matty's. 

But  she  was  patient  and  content  with  all  our 
arrangements.  She  knew,  she  said,  that  we 
should  do  the  best  we  could  for  her;  and  she 
only  hoped,  only  stipulated,  that  she  should 
pay  every  farthing  that  she  could  be  said  to 
owe  for  her  father's  sake,  who  had  been  so 
respected  in  Cranford.  My  father  and  I  had 
agreed  to  say  as  little  as  possible  about  the 
bank — indeed,  never  to  mention  it  again,  if  it 
conld  be  helped.     Some  of  the  plans  were  evi- 


262  CranforO. 

dently  a  little  perplexing  to  her;  but  she  had 
seen  me  sufficienth-  snubbed  in  the  morning 
for  want  of  comprehension  to  venture  on  too 
many  inquiries  now;  and  all  passed  over  well, 
with  a  hope  on  her  part  that  no  one  would  be 
hurried  into  marriage  on  her  account.  When 
we  came  to  the  proposal  that  she  should  sell 
tea,  I  could  see  it  was  rather  a  shock  to  her; 
not  on  account  of  any  personal  loss  of  gentility 
involved,  but  only  because  she  distrusted  her 
own  powers  of  action  in  a  new  line  of  life,  and 
would  timidly  have  preferred  a  little  more  pri- 
vation to  any  exertion  for  which  she  feared  she 
was  unfitted.  However,  when  she  saw  my 
father  was  bent. upon  it,  she  sighed,  and  said 
she  would  tr}';  and  if  she  did  not  do  well,  of 
course  she  might  give  it  up.  One  good  thing 
about  it  was,  she  did  not  think  men  ever  bought 
tea;  and  it  was  of  men  particularly  she  was 
afraid.  They  had  such  sharp,  loud  ways  with 
them;  and  did  up  accounts,  and  counted  their 
change,  so  quickly!  Now,  if  she  might  only 
sell  comfits  to  children,  she  was  sure  she  could 
please  them! 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A  HAPPY  RETURN. 

BEFORE  I  left  Miss  Matty  at  Cranford 
everything  had  been  comfortably  arranged 
for  her.  Even  Mrs.  Jamieson's  approval  of  her 
selling  tea  had  been  gained.  That  oracle  had 
taken  a  few  days  to  consider  whether  by  so  do- 
ing Miss  Matty  would  forfeit  her  right  to  the 
privileges  of  society  in  Cranford.  I  think  she 
had  some  little  idea  of  mortifying  Lady  Glen- 
mire  by  the  decision  she  gave  at  last,  which 
was  to  this  effect:  that  whereas  a  married 
woman  takes  her  husband's  rank  by  the  strict 
laws  of  precedence,  an  unmarried  woman  re- 
tains the  station  her  father  occupied.  So  Cran- 
ford was  allowed  to  visit  Miss  Matty;  and, 
whether  allowed  or  not,  it  intended  to  visit 
Eady  Glenmire. 

But  what  was  our  surprise — our  dismay — 
when  we  learned  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hoggins 
were  returning  on  the  following  Tuesday. 
Mrs.  Hoggins  !  Had  she  absolutely  dropped 
her  title,  and  so,  in  a  spirit  of  bravado,  cut  the 
aristocracy  to  become  a  Hoggins?  She,  who 
might  have  been  called  Lady  Glenmire  to  her 
dying  day  !  Mrs.  Jamieson  was  pleased.  She 
said  it  only  convinced  her  of  what  she  had 
(263) 


264  GtanforO. 

known  from  the  first,  that  the  creature  had  a 
low  taste.  But  ' '  the  creature ' '  looked  very 
happy  on  Sunday-  at  Church  ;  nor  did  we  see 
it  necessarj^  to  keep  our  veils  down  on  that  side 
of  our  bonnets  on  which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hoggins 
sat,  as  Mrs.  Jamieson  did  ;  thereby  missing  all 
the  smiling  glory  of  his  face,  and  all  the  be- 
coming blushes  of  hers.  I  am  not  sure  if  Mar- 
tha and  Jim  looked  more  radiant  in  the  after- 
noon, when  they  too  made  their  first  appear- 
ance. Mrs.  Jamieson  soothed  the  turbulence  of 
her  soul,  bj''  having  the  blinds  of  her  windows 
drawn  down,  as  if  for  a  funeral,  on  the  day 
when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hoggins  received  callers  ; 
and  It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  she  was 
prevailed  upon  to  continue  *:he  Sf.  James's 
Chronicle — so  indignant  was  she  with  its  hav- 
ing inserted  the  announcement  of  the  marriage. 
Miss  Matty's  sale  went  oflf  famously.  She 
retamed  tne  furniture  of  her  sitting-room  and 
bedroom  ;  the  former  of  which  she  was  to  oc- 
cupy till  Martha  could  meet  with  a  lodger  who 
might  wish  to  take  it ;  and  into  this  sitting- 
room  and  bedroom  she  had  to  cram  all  sorts  of 
things,  which  were  (the  auctioneer  assured 
her)  bought  in  for  her  at  the  sale  by  an  un- 
known friend.  I  alwaj's  suspected  Mrs.  Fitz- 
Adam  of  this ;  but  she  must  have  had  an 
accessory,  who  knew  what  articles  were  par- 
ticularly regarded  by  Miss  Matty  on  account  of 
their  associations  with  her  early  days.  The 
rest  of  the  house  looked  rather  bare,  to  be  sure  ; 


21  IbappB  TReturn.  265 

all  except  one  tiuy  bedroom,  of  which  my 
father  allowed  me  to  purchase  the  furniture  for 
my  occasional  use,  in  case  of  Miss  Matty's 
illness. 

I  had  expended  ray  own  small  store  in  buy- 
ing all  manner  of  comfits  and  lozenges,  in  order 
to  tempt  the  little  people  whom  Miss  Matty 
loved  so  much,  to  come  about  her.  Tea  in 
bright  green  canisters — and  comfits  in  tumblers 
— Miss  Matty  and  I  felt  quite  proud  as  we  looked 
round  us  on  the  evening  before  the  shop  was  to 
be  opened.  Martha  had  scoured  the  boarded 
floor  to  a  white  cleanness,  and  it  was  adorned 
with  a  brilliant  piece  of  oil-cloth,  on  which 
customers  were  to  stand  before  the  table-coun- 
ter. The  wholesome  smell  of  plaster  and  white- 
wash pervaded  the  apartment.  A  very  small 
"Matilda  Jenkyns,  licensed  to  sell  tea,"  was 
hidden  under  the  lintel  of  the  new  door, 
and  two  boxes  of  tea,  with  cabalistic  inscrip- 
tions all  over  them,  stood  ready  to  disgorge 
their  contents  into  the  canisters. 

Miss  Matty,  as  I  ought  to  have  mentioned 
before,  had  had  some  scruples  of  conscience  at 
selling  tea  when  there  was  already  Mr.  John- 
son in  the  town,  who  included  it  among  his 
numerous  commodities;  and,  before  she  could 
quite  reconcile  herself  to  the  adoption  of  her 
new  business,  she  had  trotted  down  to  his  shop, 
unknown  to  me,  to  tell  him  of  the  project  that 
was  entertained,  and  to  inquire  if  it  was  likely 
to  injure  his  business.     My  father  called  this 


266  CranforD. 

idea  of  hers  "great  nonsense,"  and  "wondered 
how  tradespeople  were  to  get  on  if  there  was 
to  be  a  continual  consulting  of  each  other's  in- 
terests, which  would  put  a  stop  to  all  competi- 
tion directly."  And  perhaps  it  would  not  have 
done  in  Drumble,  but  in  Cranford  it  answered 
very  well;  for  not  only  did  Mr.  Johnson  kindly 
put  at  rest  Miss  Matty's  scruples,  and  fear 
of  injuring  his  business;  but.  I  have  reason  to 
know,  he  repeatedly  sent  customers  to  her,  saj'-- 
ing  that  the  teas  he  kept  were  of  a  common 
kind,  but  that  Miss  Jenkyns  had  all  the  choice 
sorts.  And  expensive  tea  is  a  very  favorite 
luxury  with  well-to-do  tradespeople  and  rich 
farmers'  wives,  who  turn  up  their  noses  at  the 
Congou  and  Souchong  prevalent  at  many  tables 
of  gentility,  and  will  have  nothing  else  than 
Gunpowder  and  Pekoe  for  themselves. 

But  to  return  to  Miss  Matty.  It  was  really 
very  pleasant  to  see  how  her  unselfishness  and 
simple  sense  of  justice  called  out  the  same 
good  qualities  in  others.  She  never  seemed  to 
think  an}^  one  would  impose  upon  her,  because 
she  should  be  so  grieved  to  do  it  to  them,  t 
have  heard  her  put  a  stop  to  the  asseverations 
of  the  man  who  brought  her  coals,  by  quietly 
saj'ing,  "I  am  sure  you  would  be  sorry  to  bring 
me  wrong  weight; "  and  if  the  coals  were  short 
measure  that  time,  I  don't  believe  they  ev-er 
were  again.  People  would  have  felt  as  much 
ashamed  of  presuming  on  her  good  faith  as 
they  would  have  done  on  that  of  a  child.    But 


H  iJappv;  IRetiirn.  267 

my  father  says,  "such  simplicity  might  be  very 
well  in  Cranford,  but  would  never  do  in  the 
world."  And  I  fancy  the  world  must  be  very 
bad;  for  with  all  ray  father's  suspicion  of  every 
one  with  whom  he  has  dealings,  and  in  spite  of 
all  his  many  precautions,  he  lost  upward  of  a 
thousand  pounds  by  roguer}--  onl)^  last  year. 

I  just  stayed  long  enough  to  establish  Miss 
Matty  in  her  new  mode  of  life,  and  to  pack  up 
the  library,  which  the  rector  had  purchased. 
He  had  written  a  very  kind  letter  to  Miss 
Matt\',  saying  "how  glad  he  should  be  to  take 
a  library  so  well  .'elected,  as  he  knew  that 
the  late  Mr.  Jenkyns'  must  have  been,  at  any 
valuation  put  upon  them."  And  when  she 
agreed  to  this,  with  a  touch  of  sorrowful  glad- 
ness that  they  would  go  back  to  the  Rector}-, 
and  be  arranged  on  the  accustomed  walls  once 
more,  he  sent  word  that  he  feared  that  he  had 
not  room  for  them  all,  and  perhaps  Miss  Matty 
would  kindly  allow  him  to  leave  some  volumes 
on  her  shelves.  But  Miss  Matty  said  that  she 
had  her  Bible,  and  Johnson's  Dictionary,  and 
should  not  have  much  time  for  reading,  she 
was  afraid.  vStill,  I  retained  a  few  books  out 
of  con.sideration  for  the  rector's  kindness. 

The  money  which  he  had  paid,  and  that  pro- 
duced by  the  sale,  was  partly  expended  in  the 
stock  of  tea,  and  part  of  it  was  invested  against 
a  rainy  day;  i.  e.,  old  age  or  illness.  It  was 
but  a  small  sura,  it  is  true;  and  it  occasioned  a 
few  evasions  of  truth  and  white  lies  (all  of 


268  CrantorO. 

which  I  think  very  wrong  indeed — in  theor>^ — 
and  would  rather  not  put  them  in  practice),  for 
we  knew  Miss  Matty  would  be  perplexed  as  to 
her  duty  if  she  were  aware  of  any  little  reser\'e 
fund  being  made  for  her  while  the  debts  of  the 
bank  remained  unpaid.  Moreover,  she  had 
never  been  told  of  the  way  in  which  her  friends 
were  contributing  to  pay  the  rent.  I  should 
have  liked  to  tell  her  this,  but  the  mj-stery  of 
the  affair  gave  a  piquancy  to  their  deed  of  kind- 
ness which  the  ladies  were  unwilling  to  give 
up;  and  at  first  Martha  had  to  shirk  many  a 
perplexed  question  as  to  her  ways  and  means 
of  living  in  such  a  house;  but  by-and-by  Miss 
Matt3''s  prudent  uneasiness  sank  down  into  ac- 
quiescence with  the  existing  arrangement. 

I  left  Miss  Matty  with  a  good  heart.  Her 
sales  of  tea  during  the  first  two  days  had  sur- 
passed my  most  .sanguine  expectations.  The 
whole  country  round  seemed  to  be  all  out  of 
tea  at  once.  The  onl}'  alteration  I  could  have 
desired  in  Miss  Matty's  way  of  doing  business 
was,  that  she  should  not  have  .so  plaintively 
entreated  some  of  her  customers  not  to  buy 
green  tea — running  it  down  as  .slow  poison, 
sure  to  destroy  the  nerves,  and  produce  all 
manner  of  evil.  Their  pertinacity  in  taking  it, 
in  spite  of  all  her  warnings,  distressed  her  so 
much  that  I  really  thought  she  would  relin- 
quish the  sale  of  it,  and  so  lose  half  her  cus- 
tom ;  and  I  was  driven  to  my  wits'  end  for  in- 
stances of  longevity  entirely  attributable  to  a 


a  Ibappg  "Return.  269 

persevering  use  of  green  tea.  But  the  final 
argument,  which  settled  the  question,  was  a 
happy  reference  of  mine  to  the  train  oil  and 
tallow  candles  which  the  Esquimaux  not  only 
enjoy  but  digest.  After  that  she  acknowledged 
that  "  one  man's  meat  might  be  another  man's 
poison,"  and  contented  herself  thenceforward 
with  an  occasional  remonstrance,  when  she 
thought  the  purchaser  was  too  young  and  in- 
nocent to  be  acquainted  with  the  evil  effects 
green  tea  produced  on  some  constitutions;  and 
an  habitual  sigh  when  people  old  enough  to 
choose  more  wisely  would  prefer  it. 

I  w^ent  over  from  Drumble  once  a  quarter 
at  least,  to  settle  the  accounts  and  see  after 
the  necessary  business  letters.  And,  speaking 
of  letters,  I  began  to  be  very  much  ashamed 
of  remembering  my  letter  to  the  Aga  Jenkyns, 
and  very  glad  I  had  never  named  my  writing 
to  any  one.  I  only  hope  the  letter  was  lost. 
No  answer  came.     No  sign  was  made. 

About  a  5'ear  after  Miss  Matty  set  up  shop, 
I  received  one  of  Martha's  hieroglyphics,  beg- 
ging me  to  come  to  Cranford  very  soon.  I 
was  afraid  that  Miss  Matty  was  ill,  and  went 
off  that  very  afternoon  and  took  Martha  by 
surprise  when  she  saw  me  on  opening  the 
door.  We  went  into  the  kitchen,  as  usual,  to 
have  our  confidential  conference;  and  then 
Martha  told  me  she  was  expecting  her  con- 
finement very  soon — in  a  week  or  two;  and 
she  did  not  think  Miss  Matty  v,as  awaie  of  it; 


270 


GranfocD. 


and  she  wanted  me  to  break  the  news  to  her  ; 
"  for  indeed,  miss!"  continued  Martha,  crying 
hysterically,  "I  'm  afraid  she  won't  approve 
of  it;  and  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  who  is  to 
take  care  of  her  as  she  should  be  taken  care  of 
when  I  'm  laid  up." 

I  comforted  Martha  b}'  telling  her  I  would 
remain  till  she  was  about  again,  and  only 
wished  she  had  told  me  the  reason  for  this 
sudden  summons,  as  then  I  would  have 
brought  the  requisite  stock  of  clothes.  But 
Martha  was  so  tearful  and  tender-spirited,  and 
unlike  her  usual  self,  that  I  said  as  little  as 
possible  about  myself,  and  endeavored  rather 
to  comfort  Martha  under  all  the  probable  and 
possible  misfortunes  which  came  crowding 
upon  her  imagination. 

I  then  stole  out  of  the  house-door,  and  made 
my  appearance,  as  if  I  were  a  customer,  in  the 
shop,  just  to  take  Miss  Matty  by  surprise,  and 
gain  an  idea  of  how  she  looked  in  her  new  situ- 
ation. It  was  warm  May  weather,  so  only  the 
little  hall-door  was  closed;  and  Miss  Matty  sat 
behind  her  counter,  knitting  an  elaborate  pair 
of  garters;  elaborate  tliej'  seemed  to  me,  but 
the  difficult  stitch  was  no  weight  upon  her 
mind,  for  she  was  singing  in  a  low  voice  to  her- 
self as  her  needles  went  rapidly  in  and  out.  I 
call  it  singing,  but  I  dare  say  a  musician  would 
not  use  that  word  to  the  tuneless  j^et  sweet 
humming  of  the  low  worn  voice.  I  found  out 
from  the  words,  far  more  than  from  the  attempt 


B  fjappB  IReturn.  271 

at  the  tune,  that  it  was  the  Old  Hundredth  she 
was  crooning  to  herself;  but  the  quiet,  contin- 
uous sound  told  of  content,  and  gave  me  a 
pleasant  feeling  as  I  stood  in  the  street  just 
outside  the  door,  quite  in  harmony  with  that 
soft  May  morning.  I  went  in.  At  first  she  did 
not  catch  who  it  was,  and  stood  up  as  if  to 
serve  me ;  but  in  another  minute  watchful 
pussy  had  clutched  her  knitting,  which  was 
dropped  in  her  eager  joy  at  seeing  me.  I  found, 
after  we  had  had  a  little  conversation,  that  it 
was  as  Martna  said,  and  that  Miss  Matty  had  no 
idea  of  the  approaching  househola  even>..  So  T 
thought  I  would  let  things  take  their  course, 
secure  that  when  I  went  to  her  with  the  baby 
in  my  arms  I  should  obtain  that  forgiveness  for 
Martha  which  she  was  needlessly  frightening 
herself  into  believing  that  Miss  Matty  would 
withhold,  under  some  notion  that  the  new 
claimant  would  require  attentions  from  its 
mother  that  it  would  be  faithless  treason  to 
Miss  Matty  to  render. 

But  I  was  right.  I  think  that  must  be  an 
hereditary  quality,  for  my  father  says  he  is 
scarcely  ever  wrong.  One  morning,  within  a 
week  after  I  arrived,  I  went  to  call  on  Miss 
Matty,  with  a  little  bundle  of  flannel  in  my 
arms.  She  was  very  much  awe-struck  when  I 
showed  her  what  it  was,  and  asked  for  her 
spectacles  oflf  the  dressing-table,  and  looked  at 
it  curiously,  with  a  sort  of  tender  wonder  ai  its 
small  perfection  of  parts.     She  could  not  ban- 


272 


CranforD. 


isb  the  thought  of  the  surprise  all  day,  but 
went  about  on  tip-toe,  and  was  very  client. 
But  she  stole  up  to  see  Martha,  and  they  both 
cried  with  joy;  and  she  got  into  a  complimen- 
tary speech  to  Jim,  and  did  not  know  how  to 
get  out  of  it  again,  and  was  only  extricated 
from  her  dilemma  by  the  sound  of  the  shop- 
bell,  which  was  an  equal  relief  to  the  shy 
proud,  honest  Jim,  who  shook  my  hand  so  vig 
orously  when  I  congratulated  him.  that  I  think 
I  feel  the  paiu  oi  it  yev 

I  had  £  busy  lif<=^  while  Martha  was  laid  up 
I  attended  on  Miss  Mauy,  ana  prepared  bet 
meals;  I  cast  up  her  accounts,  and  examined 
into  the  state  of  her  canisters  and  tumblers. 
I  helped  her,  too,  occasionally,  in  the  shop; 
and  it  gave  me  no  small  amusement,  and  some- 
times a  little  uneasiness,  to  watch  her  ways 
there.  If  a  little  child  came  in  to  ask  for  an 
ounce  of  almond  comfits  (and  four  of  the  large 
kind  which  Miss  Matty  sold  weighed  that 
much),  she  always  added  one  more  by  "way  of 
make- weight,"  as  she  called  it,  although  the 
scale  was  handsomely  turned  before;  and  when 
I  remonstrated  against  this,  her  reply  was, 
"The  little  things  like  it  so  much!"  There 
was  no  use  in  telling  her  that  the  fifth  comfit 
weighed  a  quarter  of  an  ounce,  and  made  every 
sale  into  a  loss  to  her  pocket.  So  I  remem- 
bered the  green  tea,  and  winged  my  shaft  with 
a  feather  out  of  her  own  plumage.  I  told  her 
how  unwholesome  almond  comfits  were;  and 


B  l3appB  TReturn.  273 

how  ill  excess  in  them  might  make  the  little 
children.  This  argument  produced  some  ef- 
fect; for  henceforward,  instead  of  the  fifth  com- 
fit, she  always  told  them  to  hold  out  their  tiny 
palms,  into  which  she  shook  either  peppermint 
or  ginger  lozenges,  as  a  preventive  to  the  dan- 
gers that  might  arise  from  the  previous  sale. 
Altogether,  the  lozenge  trade,  conducted  on 
these  principles,  did  not  promise  to  be  remun- 
erative; but  I  was  happy  to  find  she  had  made 
more  than  twenty  pounds  during  the  last  year 
by  her  sales  of  tea;  and,  moreover,  now  that 
she  was  accustomed  to  it,  she  did  not  dislike 
the  employment,  which  brought  her  into  kindly 
intercourse  with  many  of  the  people  round 
about.  If  she  gave  them  good  weight,  they, 
in  their  turn,  brought  many  a  little  country 
present  to  the  "old  rector's  daughter," — a 
cream  cheese,  a  few  new-laid  eggs,  a  little  fresh 
ripe  fruit,  a  bunch  of  flowers.  The  counter 
was  quite  loaded  with  these  offerings  some- 
times, as  she  told  me. 

As  for  Cranford  in  general,  it  was  going  on 
much  as  usual.  The  Jamieson  and  Hoggins 
feud  still  raged,  if  a  feud  it  could  be  called, 
when  only  one  side  cared  much  about  it.  Mr, 
and  Mrs.  Hoggins  were  very  happy  together; 
and,  like  most  very  happy  people,  quite  ready 
to  be  friendly;  indeed,  Mrs.  Hoggins  was  really 
desirous  to  be  restored  to  Mrs.  Jamieson's  good 
graces,  because  of  the  former  intimacy.  But 
Mrs.  Jamieson  considered  their  very  happiness 
18 


274 


CrantorD. 


an  insult  to  the  Glenmire  family,  to  which  she 
had  still  the  honor  to  belong,  and  she  doggedly- 
refused  and  rejected  every  advance.  Mr.  Mul- 
liner,  like  a  faithful  clansman,  espoused  his 
mistress'  side  with  ardor.  If  he  saw  either 
Mr.  or  Mrs.  Hoggins,  he  would  cross  the  street, 
and  appear  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of 
life  in  general,  and  his  own  path  in  particular, 
until  he  had  passed  them  by.  Miss  Pole  used 
to  amuse  herself  with  wondering  what  in  the 
world  Mrs.  Jamieson  would  do,  if  either  she  or 
Mr.  Mulliner,  or  any  other  member  of  her 
household,  was  taken  ill;  she  could  hardly 
have  the  face  to  call  in  Mr.  Hoggins  after  the 
way  she  had  behaved  to  them.  Miss  Pole  grew 
quite  impatient  for  some  indisposition  or  acci- 
dent to  befall  Mrs.  Jamieson  or  her  dependents, 
in  order  that  Cranford  might  see  how  she  would 
act  under  the  perplexing  circumstances. 

Martha  was  beginning  to  go  about  again,  and 
I  had  already  fixed  a  limit,  not  very  far  distant, 
to  my  visit,  when  one  afternoon,  as  I  was  sit- 
ting in  the  shop  parlor  with  Miss  Mattj^ — I 
remember  the  weather  was  colder  now  than  it 
had  been  in  May,  three  weeks  before,  and  we 
had  a  fire,  and  kept  the  door  fully  closed — we 
saw  a  gentleman  go  slowly  past  the  window, 
and  then  stand  opposite  to  the  door,  as  if  look- 
ing out  for  the  name  which  we  had  so  care- 
fully hidden.  He  took  out  a  double  eyeglass, 
and  peered  about  for  some  time  before  he  could 
discover  it.     Then  he  came  in.     And,  all  on  a 


B  "toappu  TRcturn.  275 

sudden,  it  flashed  across  me  that  it  was  the 
Aga  himself!  For  his  clothes  had  an  out-of- 
the-way,  foreign  cut  about  them,  and  his  face 
was  deep  brown,  as  if  tanned  and  re-tanned  b}"- 
the  sun.  His  complexion  contrasted  oddly  with 
his  plentiful  snow-white  hair;  his  eyes  were 
dark  and  piercing,  and  he  had  an  odd  way  of 
contracting  them,  and  puckering  up  his  cheeks 
into  innumerable  wrinkles  when  he  looked  ear- 
nestly at  objects.  He  did  so  to  Miss  Matty  when 
he  first  came  in.  His  glance  had  first  caught 
and  lingered  a  little  upon  me;  but  then  turned, 
with  the  peculiar  searching  look  I  have  de- 
scribed, to  Miss  Matty.  She  was  a  little  flut- 
tered and  nervous,  but  no  more  so  than  she 
always  was  when  any  man  came  into  her  shop. 
She  thought  that  he  would  probably  have  a 
note,  or  a  sovereign  at  least,  for  which  she 
would  have  to  give  change,  which  was  an 
operation  she  very  much  disliked  to  perform. 
But  the  present  customer  stood  opposite  to  her, 
without  asking  for  anything,  only  looking  fix- 
edly at  her  as  he  drummed  upon  the  table  with 
his  fingers,  just  for  all  the  world  as  Miss  Jen- 
kyns  used  to  do.  Miss  Matty  was  on  the  point 
of  asking  him  what  he  wanted  (as  she  told  me 
afterward),  when  he  turned  sharp  to  me:  "  Is 
your  name  Mary  Smith?" 

"Yes,"  said  I. 

All  my  doubts  as  to  his  identity  were  set  at 
rest;  and  I  only  wondered  what  he  would  say 
or  do  next,  and  how  Miss  Matty  would  stand 


t-jG  CranforD. 

the  joyful  shock  of  what  he  had  to  reveal.  Ap- 
parently he  was  at  a  loss  how  to  announce  him- 
self; for  he  looked  round  at  last  in  search  of 
something  to  buy,  so  as  to  gain  time;  and,  as 
it  happened,  his  eye  caught  on  the  almond  com- 
fits, and  he  boldly  asked  for  a  pound  of  "those 
things."  I  doubt  if  Miss  Matty  had  a  whole 
pound  in  the  shop;  and,  besides  the  unusual 
magnitude  of  the  order,  she  was  distressed  with 
the  idea  of  the  indigestion  the}-  would  produce, 
taken  in  such  unlimited  quantities.  She  looked 
up  to  remonstrate.  Something  of  tender  re- 
laxation in  his  face  struck  home  to  her  heart. 
She  said,  "It  is — oh,  sir!  can  you  be  Peter?" 
and  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  In  a  moment 
he  was  roimd  the  table,  and  had  her  in  his 
arms,  sobbing  the  tearless  cries  of  old  age.  I 
brought  her  a  glass  of  wine  ;  for,  indeed,  her 
color  had  changed  so  as  to  alarm  me  and  Mr. 
Peter,  too.  He  kept  saying,  ' '  I  have  been 
too  sudden  for  you,  Matty — I  have,  my  little 
girl." 

I  proposed  that  she  should  go  at  once  up  into 
the  drawing-room  and  lie  down  on  the  sofa 
there.  She  looked  wistfully  at  her  brother, 
whose  hand  she  had  held  tight,  even  when 
nearly  fainting ;  but  on  his  assuring  her  that 
he  would  not  leave  her,  she  allowed  him  to 
carry  her  upstairs. 

I  thought  that  the  best  I  could  do  was  to  run 
and  put  the  kettle  on  the  fire  for  early  tea,  and 
Uien  to  attend  to  the  shop,  leaving  the  brother 


a  IbappB  tReturn.  277 

and  sister  to  exchange  some  of  the  many  thou- 
sand things  they  must  have  to  say.  I  had  also 
to  break  the  news  to  Martha,  who  received  it 
with  a  burst  of  tears,  which  nearly  infected  me. 
She  kept  recovering  herself  to  ask  if  I  was  sure 
it  was  indeed  Miss  Matty's  brother  ;  for  I  had 
mentioned  that  he  had  gray  hair,  and  she  had 
always  heard  that  he  was  a  very  handsome 
young  man.  Something  of  the  same  kind  per- 
plexed Miss  Matty  at  tea-time,  when  she  was 
installed  in  the  great  easy-chair  opposite  to  Mr. 
Jenkyns,  in  order  to  gaze  her  fill.  She  could 
hardly  drink  for  looking  at  him  ;  and  as  for 
eating,  that  was  out  of  the  question. 

' '  I  suppose  hot  climates  age  people  very 
quickly,"  said  she,  almost  to  herself.  "When 
you  left  Cranford  you  had  not  a  gray  hair  in 
your  head. ' ' 

"But  how  many  years  ago  is  that?"  said  Mr. 
Peter,  smiling. 

"Ah  !  true  !  yes  !  I  suppose  you  and  I  are 
getting  old.  But  still  I  did  not  think  we  were 
so  very  old  !  But  white  hair  is  very  becoming 
to  you,  Peter,"  she  continued — a  little  afraid 
lest  she  had  hurt  him  by  revealing  how  his  ap- 
pearance had  impressed  her. 

"I  suppose  I  forgot  dates,  too,  Matty,  for 
what  do  you  think  I  have  brought  for  you  from 
India?  I  have  an  India  muslin  gown  and  a 
pearl  necklace  for  you  somewhere  or  other  in 
my  chest  at  Portsmouth."  He  smiled  as  if 
amu-sed  at  the  idea  of  the  incongruity  of  y^ 


278  CranforD. 

presents  with  the  appearance  of  his  sister  ;  but 
this  did  not  strike  her  all  at  once,  while  the 
elegance  of  the  articles  did.  I  could  see  that 
for  a  moment  her  imagination  dwelt  com- 
placently on  the  idea  of  herself  thus  attired  ; 
and  instinctively  she  put  her  hand  up  to  her 
throat — that  little  delicate  throat,  which  (as 
Miss  Pole  had  told  me)  had  been  one  of  her 
j^outhful  charms  ;  but  the  hand  .met  the  touch 
of  folds  of  soft  muslin,  in  which  she  was  alwaj'S 
swathed  up  to  her  chin;  and  the  sensation  re- 
called a  sense  of  the  unsuitableness  of  a  pearl 
necklace  to  her  age.  She  said:  ''I  'm  afraid 
I  'm  too  old;  but  it  was  very  kind  of  you  to 
think  of  it.  They  are  just  what  I  should  have 
liked  years  ago — when  I  was  young!" 

"  So  I  thought,  my  little  Matty.  I  remem- 
bered your  tastes — they  were  so  like  m^'  dear 
mother's."  At  the  mention  of  that  name,  the 
brother  and  sister  clasped  each  other's  hands 
yet  more  fondly;  and  although  they  were  per- 
fectly silent,  I  fancied  they  might  have  some- 
thing to  say  if  they  were  unchecked  by  my 
presence,  and  I  got  up  to  arrange  my  room  for 
Mr.  Peter's  occupation  that  night,  intending 
myself  to  share  Miss  Matty's  bed.  But  at  my 
movement  he  started  up.  "  I  must  go  and  set- 
tle about  a  room  at  the  George.  My  carpet- 
bag is  there  too. ' ' 

"No!"  said  Miss  Matty,  in  great  distress — 
"you  must  not  go;  please,  dear  Peter — pray, 
Mary — oh!  you  must  not  go!" 


B  Ibapps  IRetutn.  279 

She  was  so  much  agitated  that  we  both 
promised  everything  she  wished.  Peter  sat 
down  again,  and  gave  her  his  hand,  which 
for  better  security  she  held  in  both  of  hers, 
and  I  left  the  room  to  accomplish  my  arrange- 
ments. 

Long,  long  into  the  night,  far,  far  into  the 
morning,  did  Miss  Matty  and  I  talk.  She  had 
much  to  tell  me  of  her  brother's  life  and  adven- 
tures which  he  had  communicated  to  her,  as 
they  had  sat  alone.  She  said  that  all  was  thor- 
oughly clear  to  her;  but  I  never  quite  under- 
stood the  whole  story;  and  when  in  after  days 
I  lost  my  awe  of  Mr.  Peter  enough  to  question 
him  myself,  he  laughed  at  my  curiosity,  and 
told  me  stories  that  sounded  so  very  much  like 
Baron  Munchausen's,  that  I  was  sure  he  was 
making  fun  of  me.  What  I  heard  from  Miss 
Matty  was,  that  he  had  been  a  volunteer  at  the 
siege  of  Rangoon;  had  been  taken  prisoner  by 
the  Burmese;  had  somehow  obtained  favor  and 
eventual  freedom  from  knowing  how  to  bleed 
the  chief  of  the  small  tribe  in  some  case  of 
dangerous  illness;  that,  on  his  release  from 
years  of  captivity,  he  had  had  his  letters  re- 
turned from  England  with  the  ominous  word 
"Dead"  marked  upon  them;  and  believing 
himself  to  be  the  last  of  his  race,  he  had  settled 
down  as  an  indigo  planter,  and  had  proposed 
to  spend  the  remainder  of  his  life  in  the  coun- 
tr}'-  to  whose  inhabitants  and  modes  of  life  he 
had  become  habituated,   when  my  letter  had 


28o  CtantotD. 

reached  him;  and  with  the  odd  vehemence 
which  characterized  him  in  age  as  it  had  done 
in  youth,  he  had  sold  his  land  and  all  his  pos- 
sessions to  the  first  purchaser,  and  come  home 
to  the  poor  old  sister,  who  was  more  glad  and 
rich  than  any  princess  when  she  looked  at  him. 
She  talked  me  to  sleep  at  last,  and  then  I  was 
awakened  by  a  slight  sotmd  at  the  door,  for 
which  she  begged  mj-  pardon  as  she  crept  peni- 
tently into  bed;  but  it  seems  that  when  I  could 
no  longer  confirm  her  belief  that  the  long-lost 
was  really  here — under  the  same  roof — she  had 
begun  to  fear  lest  it  was  only  a  waking  dream 
of  hers;  that  there  never  had  been  a  Peter  sit- 
ting by  her  all  that  blessed  evening,  but  that 
the  real  Peter  lay  dead  far  away  beneath  some 
wild  sea-wave,  or  under  some  strange  Eastern 
tree.  And  so  strong  had  this  nervous  feeling 
of  hers  become,  that  she  \vas  fain  to  get  up, 
and  go  and  convince  herself  that  he  was  really 
there  by  listening  through  the  door  to  his  even, 
regular  breathing — I  don't  like  to  call  it  snor- 
ing, but  I  heard  it  myself  through  two  closed 
doors — and  by-and-by  it  soothed  Miss  Matty  to 
sleep. 

I  don't  believe  Mr.  Peter  came  home  from 
India  as  rich  as  a  nabob;  he  even  considered  him- 
self poor;  but  neither  he  nor  Miss  Matty  cared 
much  about  that.  At  any  rate,  he  had  enough 
to  live  upon  "very  genteelly "  at  Cranford — he 
and  Miss  Matty  together.  And  a  day  or  two 
after  his   arrival  the  shop  was  closed,  while 


B  "toapp^s  IReturn,  281 

troops  of  little  urchins  gleefully  awaited  the 
showers  of  comfits  and  lozenges  that  came 
from  time  to  time  down  upon  their  faces  as 
they  stood  up-gazing  at  Miss  Matty's  drawing- 
loom  windows.  Occasionally  Miss  Matty  would 
say  to  them  (half  hidden  behind  the  curtains), 
"  My  dear  children,  don't  make  yourselves  ill ;" 
but  a  strong  arm  pulled  her  back,  and  a  more 
rattling  shower  than  ever  succeeded.  A  part 
of  the  tea  was  sent  in  presents  to  the  Cranford 
ladies;  and  some  of  it  was  distributed  among 
the  old  people  who  remembered  Mr.  Peter  in 
the  days  of  his  frolicsome  youth.  The  India 
muslin  gown  was  reserved  for  darling  Flora 
Gordon  (Miss  Jessie  Brown's  daughter).  The 
Gordons  had  been  on  the  Continent  for  the  last 
few  years,  but  were  now  expected  to  return  very 
soon;  and  Miss  Matty,  in  her  sisterly  pride,  an- 
ticipated great  delight  in  the  joy  of  showing 
them  Mr.  Peter.  The  pearl  necklace  disap- 
peared; and  about  that  time  many  handsome 
and  useful  presents  made  their  appearance  in 
the  households  of  Miss  Pole  and  Mrs.  Forrester; 
and  some  rare  and  delicate  Indian  ornaments 
graced  the  drawing-rooms  of  Mrs.  Jamieson  and 
Mrs.  Fitz-Adam,  I  myself  was  not  forgotten. 
Among  other  things,  I  had  the  handsomest- 
bound  and  best  edition  of  Dr.  Johnson's  works 
that  could  be  procured;  and  dear  Miss  Matty, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  begged  me  to  consider 
it  as  a  present  from  her  sister  as  well  as  herself. 
In  short,  no  one  was  forgotten;  and,  what  was 


282  CranfotD. 

more,  every  one,  however  insignificant,  who 
had  shown  kindness  to  Miss  Matty  at  any 
time,  was  sure  of  Mr.  Peter's  cordial  regard. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"PEACB  TO  CRANFORD." 

IT  was  not  surprising  that  Mr.  Peter  became 
such  a  favorite  at  Cranford.  The  ladies 
vied  with  each  other  who  should  admire  him 
most ;  and  no  wonder  ;  for  their  quiet  lives  were 
astonishingly  stirred  up  by  the  arrival  from  In- 
dia— especially  as  the  person  arrived  told  more 
wonderful  stories  than  Sindbad  the  Sailor  ;  and, 
as  Miss  Pole  said,  was  quite  as  good  as  an  Ara- 
bian night  any  evening.  For  mj^  own  part,  I 
had  vibrated  all  my  life  between  Drumble  and 
Cranford,  and  I  thought  it  was  quite  possible 
that  all  Mr.  Peter's  stories  might  be  true,  al- 
though wonderful ;  but  when  I  found  that  if  we 
swallowed  an  anecdote  of  tolerable  magnitude 
one  week,  we  had  the  dose  considerably  in- 
creased the  next,  I  began  to  have  mj^  doubts  ; 
especially  as  I  noticed  that  when  his  sister  was 
present  the  accounts  of  Indian  life  were  com- 
paratively tame;  not  that  she  knew  more  than 
we  did,  perhaps  less.  I  noticed,  also,  that  when 
the  rector  came  to  call,  Mr.  Peter  talked  in  a 
different  way  about  the  countries  he  had  been 
in.  But  I  don't  think  the  ladies  in  Cranford 
would  have  considered  him  such  a  wonderful 
traveller  if  they  had  only  heard  him  talk  in  the 
(283) 


284  Crantor^. 

quiet  way  he  did  to  him.  They  liked  him  the 
better,  indeed,  for  being  what  they  called  "so 
very  Oriental." 

One  da)',  at  a  select  party  in  his  honor,  which 
Miss  Pole  gave,  and  from  which,  as  Mrs.  Ja- 
mieson  honored  it  with  her  presence,  and  had 
even  offered  to  send  Mr.  Mulliner  to  wait,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Hoggins  and  Mrs.  Fitz-Adam  were 
necessarily  excluded — one  day  at  Miss  Pole's 
Mr.  Peter  said  he  was  tired  of  sitting  upright 
against  the  hard-backed  uneasy  chairs,  and 
asked  if  he  might  not  indulge  himself  in  sitting 
cross-legged.  Miss  Pole's  consent  was  eagerly 
given,  and  down  he  went  with  the  utmost  grav- 
ity. But  when  Miss  Pole  asked  me,  in  an  audi- 
ble whisper,  "if  he  did  not  remind  me  of  the 
Father  of  the  Faithful,''  I  could  not  help 
thinking  of  poor  Simon  Jones,  the  lame  tailor; 
and  while  Mrs.  Jamieson  slowly  commented  on 
the  elegance  and  convenience  of  the  attitude,  I 
remembered  how  we  had  all  followed  that  lady's 
lead  in  condemning  Mr.  Hoggins  for  vulgarity 
because  he  simply  crossed  his  legs  as  he  sat 
still  on  his  chair.  Many  of  Mr.  Peter's  ways 
of  eating  were  a  little  strange  among  such 
ladies  as  Miss  Pole,  and  Miss  Matty,  and  Mrs. 
Jamieson,  especially  when  I  recollected  the 
untasted  green  peas  and  two-pronged  forks  at 
poor  Mr.  Holbrook's  dinner. 

The  mention  of  that  gentleman's  name  re- 
calls to  my  mind  a  conversation  between  Mr. 
Peter  and  Miss  Matty  one  evening  in  the  sum- 


**  peace  to  CranforJ>. "  285 

mer  after  he  returned  to  Cranford.  The  day- 
had  been  very  hot,  and  Miss  Matty  had  been 
much  oppressed  by  the  weather,  in  the  heat  of 
which  her  brother  revelled.  I  remember  that 
she  had  been  unable  to  nurse  Martha's  baby, 
which  had  become  her  favorite  employment  of 
late,  and  which  was  as  much  at  home  in  her 
arms  as  in  its  mother's,  as  long  as  it  remained 
a  light  weight — portable  by  one  so  fragile  as 
Miss  Matty.  This  day  to  which  I  refer,  Miss 
Matty  had  seemed  more  than  usually  feeble  and 
languid,  and  only  revived  when  the  sun  went 
down,  and  her  sofa  was  wheeled  to  the  open 
window,  through  which,  although  it  looked 
into  the  principal  street  of  Cranford,  the  fra- 
grant smell  of  neighboring  hay-fields  came  in 
every  now  and  then,  borne  by  the  soft  breezes 
that  stirred  the  dull  air  of  summer  twilight,  and 
then  died  away.  The  silence  of  the  sultry  at- 
mosphere was  lost  in  the  murmuring  noises 
which  came  in  from  many  an  open  window  and 
door ;  even  the  children  were  abroad  in  the 
street,  late  as  it  was  (between  ten  and  eleven), 
enjoying  the  game  of  play  for  which  they  had 
not  had  spirits  during  the  heat  of  the  day.  It 
was  a  source  of  satisfaction  to  Miss  Matty  to 
see  how  few  candles  were  lighted  even  in  the 
apartments  of  those  houses  from  which  issued 
the  greatest  signs  of  life.  Mr.  Peter,  Miss 
Matty  and  I,  had  all  been  quiet,  each  with  a 
separate  rever>^  for  some  little  time,  when  Mr. 
Peter  broke  in — 


286  CrantorD. 

' '  Do  5'ou  know,  little  Matty,  I  could  have 
sworn  you  were  on  the  high  road  to  matrimony 
when  I  left  England  that  last  time  ?  If  any- 
body had  told  me  you  would  have  lived  and 
died  an  old  maid  then,  I  should  have  laughed 
in  their  faces." 

Miss  Matty  made  no  reply ;  and  I  tried  in 
vain  to  think  of  some  subject  which  should  ef- 
fectually turn  the  conversation  ;  but  I  was  very 
stupid  ;  and  before  I  spoke,  he  went  on  : 

"  It  was  Holbrook — that  fine,  manly  fellow, 
who  lived  at  Woodley,  that  I  used  to  think 
would  carry  off  my  little  Matty.  You  would 
not  think  it  now,  I  dare  saj-,  Mary  !  but  this 
sister  of  mine  was  once  a  very  pretty  girl — at 
least  I  thought  so;  and  so  I've  a  notion  did  poor 
Holbrook.  What  business  had  he  to  die  before 
I  came  home  to  thank  him  for  all  his  kindness 
to  a  good-for-nothing  cub  as  I  was?  It  was 
that  that  made  me  first  think  he  cared  for  you  ; 
for  in  all  our  fishing  expeditions,  it  was  Matty, 
Matty,  we  talked  about.  Poor  Deborah ! 
What  a  lecture  she  read  me  on  having  asked 
him  home  to  lunch  one  day,  when  she  had  seen 
the  Arlej^  carriage  in  town,  and  thought  that 
my  lady  might  call.  Well,  that's  long  years 
ago ;  more  than  half  a  lifetime  !  and  yet  it 
seems  like  5'esterday  !  I  don't  know  a  fellow  I 
should  have  liked  better  as  a  brother-in-law. 
You  must  have  played  your  cards  badly,  my 
little  Matty,  somehow  or  another — wanted  your 
brother  to  be  a  good  go-between,  eh !  little 


"IPeace  to  CranforD."  28; 

one?"  said  he,  putting  out  his  hand  to  take 
hold  of  hers  as  she  lay  on  the  sofa — "Why, 
what's  this?  you're  shivering  and  shaking, 
Matty,  with  that  confounded  open  window. 
Shut  it,  Mary,  this  minute  !" 

I  did  so,  and  then  stooped  down  to  kiss  Miss 
Matty,  and  see  if  she  really  was  chilled.  She 
caught  my  hand,  and  gave  it  a  hard  squeeze — 
but  unconsciously,  I  think — for  in  a  minute  or 
two  she  spoke  to  us  quite  in  her  usual  voice, 
and  smiled  our  uneasiness  away,  although  she 
patiently  submitted  to  the  prescriptions  we  en- 
forced of  a  warmed  bed  and  a  glass  of  weak 
negus.  I  was  to  leave  Cranford  the  next  day, 
and  before  I  went  I  saw  that  all  the  effects  of 
the  open  window  had  quite  vanished.  I  had 
superintended  most  of  the  alterations  necessary 
in  the  house  and  household  during  the  latter 
weeks  of  my  stay.  The  shop  was  once  more  a 
parlor;  the  empty  resounding  rooms  again  fur- 
nished up  to  the  very  garrets. 

There  has  been  some  talk  of  establishing 
Martha  and  Jim  in  another  house;  but  Miss 
Matty  would  not  hear  to  this.  Indeed,  I  never 
saw  her  so  much  roused  as  when  Miss  Pole  had 
assumed  it  to  be  the  most  desirable  arrange- 
ment. As  long  as  Martha  would  remain  with 
Miss  Matty,  Miss  Matty  was  only  too  thankful 
to  have  her  about  her;  yes,  and  Jim,  too,  who 
was  a  very  pleasant  man  to  have  in' the  house, 
for  she  never  saw  him  from  week's  end  to 
week's  end.     And  as  for  the  probable  children, 


288  Cranfor5. 

if  they  would  turn  out  such  Httle  darUngs  as 
her  god-daughter  Matilda,  she  should  not  mind 
the  number,  if  Martha  did  n't.  Besides,  the 
next  was  to  be  called  Deborah;  a  point  which 
Miss  Matty  had  reluctantly  yielded  to  Martha's 
stubborn  determination  that  her  first-born  was 
to  be  Matilda.  So  Miss  Pole  had  to  lower  her 
colors,  and  even  her  voice,  as  she  said  to  me 
that  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hearne  were  still  to  go  on 
living  in  the  same  house  with  Miss  Matty,  we 
had  certainly  done  a  wise  thing  in  hiring  Mar- 
tha's niece  as  an  auxiliary. 

I  left  Miss  Matty  and  Mr.  Peter  most  com' 
fortable  and  conten:ed;  the  only  subject  for  re- 
gret to  the  tended'  heart  of  the  one  and  the 
social  friendly  nature  of  the  other  being  the  un- 
fortunate quarrel  between  Mrs.  Jamieson  and 
the  plebeian  Hogginses  and  their  following. 
In  joke  I  prophesied  one  day  that  this  would 
only  last  until  Mrs.  Jamieson  oi  Mr.  Mulliner 
were  ill,  in  which  case  they  would  only  be  too 
glad  to  be  friends  with  Mr.  Hoggins;  but  Miss 
Matty  did  not  like  my  looking  forward  to  any 
thing  like  illness  in  so  light  a  manner;  and, 
before  the  year  was  out,  all  had  come  round  in 
a  far  more  satisfactory  way, 

I  received  two  Cranford  letters  on  one  auspi- 
cious October  morning.  Both  Miss  Pole  and 
Miss  Matty  wrote  to  ask  me  to  come  over  and 
meet  the  Gordons,  who  had  returned  to  Eng- 
land alive  and  well,  with  their  two  children, 
now  almost  grown  up.     Dear  Jessie  Brown  had 


"  Peace  to  CranforO."  289 

kept  her  old  kind  nature,  although  she  had 
changed  her  name  and  station;  and  she  wrote 
to  say  that  she  and  Major  Gordon  expected  to 
be  in  Cranford  on  the  fourteenth,  and  she 
hoped  and  begged  to  be  remembered  to  Mrs. 
Jamieson  (named  first,  as  became  her  honor- 
able station),  Miss  Pole,  and  Miss  Matty — 
could  she  ever  forget  their  kindness  to  her  poor 
father  and  sister? — Mrs.  Forrester,  Mr.  Hog- 
gins (and  here  again  came  in  an  allusion  to 
kindness  shown  to  the  dead  long  ago),  his  new 
wife,  who,  as  such,  must  allow  Mrs.  Gordon  to 
desire  to  make  her  acquaintance,  and  who  was, 
moreover,  an  old  Scotch  friend  of  her  hus- 
band's. In  short,  every  one  was  named,  from 
the  rector — who  had  been  appointed  to  Cran- 
ford in  the  interim  between  Captain  Brown's 
death  and  Miss  Jessie's  marriage,  and  was  now 
associated  with  the  latter  event — down  to  Miss 
Bett}'^  Barker:  all  were  asked  to  the  luncheon — 
all  except  Mrs.  Fitz-Adam,  who  had  come  to 
live  in  Cranford  since  Miss  Jessie  Brown's  days, 
and  whom  I  found  rather  moping  on  account  of 
the  omission.  People  wondered  at  Miss  Betty 
Barker's  being  included  in  the  honorable  list ; 
but  then,  as  Miss  Pole  said,  we  must  remember 
the  disregard  of  the  genteel  proprieties  of  life  in 
which  the  poor  captain  had  educated  his  girls  ; 
and  for  his  sake  we  swallowed  our  pride ;  in- 
deed, Mrs.  Jamieson  rather  took  it  as  a  compli- 
ment, as  putting  Miss  Betty  (formerly  her  maid) 
on  a  level  with  ' '  those  Hogginses. ' ' 
19 


290 


CranfocO. 


But  when  I  arrived  in  Cranford,  nothing  was 
as  yet  ascertained  of  Miss  Janiieson's  own  in- 
tentions; would  the  honorable  lady  go,  or  would 
she  not?  Mr.  Peter  declared  that  she  should 
and  she  would;  Miss  Pole  shook  her  head  and 
desponded.  But  Mr.  Peter  was  a  man  of  re- 
sources. In  the  first  place,  he  persuaded  Miss 
Matty  to  write  to  Mrs.  Gordon,  and  tell  her  of 
Mrs.  Fitz-Adam's  existence,  and  to  beg  that 
one  so  kind,  and  cordial,  and  generous,  might 
be  included  in  the  pleasant  invitation.  An 
answer  came  back  by  return  of  post,  with  a 
prett}'  little  note  for  Mrs.  Fitz-Adam,  and  a  re- 
quest that  Miss  Matty  would  deliver  it  herself, 
and  explain  the  previous  omission.  Mrs.  Fitz- 
Adam  was  as  pleased  as  could  be,  and  thanked 
Miss  Matty  over  and  over  again.  Mr.  Peter 
had  said,  "Leave  Mrs.  Jamieson  to  me;"  so 
we  did;  especially  as  we  knew  nothing  that  we 
could  do  to  alter  her  determination,  if  once 
fonned. 

I  did  not  know,  nor  did  Miss  Matty,  how 
things  were  going  on,  until  Miss  Pole  asked 
me,  just  the  day  before  Mrs.  Gordon  came,  if  I 
thought  there  was  any  thing  between  Mr.  Peter 
and  Mrs.  Jamieson  in  the  matrimonial  line,  for 
that  Mrs.  Jamieson  was  really  going  to  the 
lunch  at  the  George.  She  had  sent  Mr.  Mul- 
liner  down  to  desire  that  there  might  be  a  foot- 
stool put  to  the  warmest  seat  in  the  room,  as 
she  meant  to  come,  and  knew  that  their  chairs 
were  very  high.     Miss  Pole  had  picked  this 


**  peace  to  CtantocD."  291 

piece  of  news  up,  and  from  it  she  conjectured 
all  sorts  of  things,  and  bemoaned  yet  more. 
' '  If  Peter  should  marry,  what  would  become  of 
poor  dear  Miss  Matty!  And  Mrs.  Jamieson  of 
all  people!"  Miss  Pole  seemed  to  think  there 
were  other  ladies  in  Crauford  who  would  have 
done  more  credit  to  his  choice,  and  I  think  she 
must  have  had  some  one  who  was  unmarried  in 
her  head,  for  she  kept  saying,  ' '  It  was  so  want- 
ing in  delicacy  in  a  widow  to  think  of  such  a 
thing." 

When  I  got  back  to  Miss  Matty's,  I  really 
did  begin  to  think  that  Mr.  Peter  might  be 
thinking  of  Mrs.  Jamieson  for  a  wife;  and  I 
was  as  unhappy  as  Miss  Pole  about  it.  He  had 
the  proof-sheet  of  a  great  placard  in  his  hand — 
"Signor  Brunoni,  Magician  to  the  King  of 
Delhi,  the  Rajah  of  Oude,  and  the  Great  Lama 
of  Thibet,  etc. ,  etc. , ' '  was  going  to  ' '  perform 
in  Cranford  for  one  night  only" — the  very 
next  night;  and  Miss  Matty,  exultant,  showed 
me  a  letter  from  the  Gordons  promising  to  re- 
main over  this  gayety,  which  Miss  Matty  said 
was  entirely  Peter's  doings.  He  had  written 
to  ask  the  signor  to  come,  and  was  to  be  at  all 
the  expenses  of  the  affair.  Tickets  were  to  be 
sent  gratis  to  as  many  as  the  room  would  hold. 
In  short.  Miss  Matty  was  charmed  with  the 
plan,  and  said  that  to-morrow  Cranford  would 
remind  her  of  the  Preston  Guild,  to  which  she 
had  been  in  her  youth— a  luncheon  at  the 
George,  with  the  dear  Gordons,  and  the  signor 


292  CranforD. 

in  the  Assembly-room  in  the  evening.     But  I 
— I  looked  only  at  the  fatal  words: 

"  Under  the  patronage  of  the  Honorable 
Mrs.  Jamieson." 

She,  then,  was  chosen  to  preside  over  this 
entertainment  of  Mr.  Peter's;  she  was  perhaps 
going  to  displace  my  dear  Miss  Matty  in  his 
heart,  and  make  her  life  lonely  once  more!  I 
could  not  look  forward  to  the  morrow  with  any 
pleasure;  and  every  innocent  anticipation  of 
Miss  Matty's  only  served  to  add  to  my  annoy- 
ance. 

So,  angry,  and  irritated,  and  exaggerating 
every  little  incident  which  could  add  to  my  irri- 
tation, I  went  on  till  we  were  all  assembled  in 
the  great  parlor  at  the  George.  Major  and  Mrs. 
Gordon,  and  pretty  Flora,  and  Mr.  Ludovic, 
were  all  as  bright,  and  handsome,  and  friendly 
as  could  be;  but  I  could  hardly  attend  to  them 
for  watching  Mr.  Peter,  and  I  saw  that  Miss 
Pole  was  equally  busy.  I  had  never  seen  Mrs. 
Jamieson  so  roused  and  animated  before ;  her 
face  looked  full  of  interest  in  what  Mr.  Peter 
was  saying.  I  drew  near  to  listen.  My  relief 
was  great  when  I  caught  that  his  words  were 
not  words  of  love,  but  that,  for  all  his  grave 
face,  he  was  at  his  old  tricks.  He  was  telling 
her  of  his  travels  in  India,  and  describing  the 
wonderful  height  of  the  Himalaya  Mountains  ; 
one  touch  after  another  added  to  their  size,  and 
each  exceeded  the   former  in   absurdity ;   but 


**  peace  to  CrantorD."  293 

Mrs.  Jamieson  really  enjoyed  all  in  perfect 
good  faith.  I  suppose  she  required  strong 
stimulants  to  excite  her  to  come  out  of  her 
apathy.  Mr.  Peter  wound  up  his  account  by 
saying  that,  of  course,  at  that  altitude  there 
were  none  of  the  animals  to  be  found  that  ex- 
isted in  the  lower  regions ;  the  game — every- 
thing was  different.  Firing  one  daj'  at  some 
flying  creature,  he  was  very  much  dismayed, 
when  it  fell,  to  find  that  he  had  shot  a  cheru- 
bim! Mr.  Peter  caught  my  eye  at  that 
moment,  and  gave  me  such  a  funny  twinkle, 
that  I  felt  sure  he  had  no  thoughts  of  Mrs. 
Jamieson  as  a  wife,  from  that  time.  She  looked 
uncomfortably  amazed: 

"  But,  Mr.  Peter — shooting  a  cherubim — 
don't  you  think — I  am  afraid  that  was  sacri- 
lege!" 

Mr.  Peter  composed  his  coimtenance  in  a 
moment,  and  appeared  shocked  at  the  idea, 
which,  as  he  said  truly  enough,  was  now  pre- 
sented to  him  for  the  first  time  ;  but  then  Mrs. 
Jamieson  must  remember  that  he  had  been  liv- 
ing for  a  long  time  among  savages — all  of  whom 
were  heathens — some  of  them,  he  was  afraid, 
were  downright  Dissenters.  Then,  .seeing  Miss 
Matty  draw  near,  he  hastily  changed  the  con- 
versation, and  after  a  little  while,  turning  to  me, 
he  said,  "  Don't  be  shocked,  prim  little  Mary, 
at  all  my  wonderful  stories;  I  consider  Mrs.  Jam- 
ieson fair  game,  and  besides,  I  am  bent  on 
propitiating  her,  and  the  first  step  toward  it  is 


294 


CranforD. 


keeping  her  well  awake.  I  bribed  her  here  by 
asking  her  to  let  me  have  her  name  as  patron- 
ess for  my  poor  conjurer  this  evening;  and  I 
don't  want  to  give  her  time  enough  to  get  up 
her  rancor  against  the  Hogginses,  who  are  just 
coming  in.  I  want  everybody  to  be  friends, 
for  it  harasses  Matty  so  much  to  hear  of  these 
quarrels.  I  shall  go  at  it  again  by-and-by,  so 
you  need  not  look  shocked.  I  intend  to  enter 
the  Assembly-room  to-night  with  Mrs.  Jamie- 
son  on  one  side,  and  my  lady  Mrs.  Hoggins  on 
the  other.     You  see  if  I  don't." 

Somehow  or  another  he  did,  and  fairly  got 
them  into  conversation  together.  Major  and 
Mrs.  Gordon  helped  at  the  good  work,  with 
their  perfect  ignorance  of  any  existing  coolness 
between  any  of  the  inhabitants  of  Cranford. 

Ever  since  that  day  there  has  been  the  old 
friendly  sociability  in  Cranford  society;  which 
I  am  thankful  for,  because  of  my  dear  Miss 
Matty's  love  of  peace  and  kindliness.  We  all 
love  Miss  Matty,  and  I  somehow  think  we  are 
all  of  us  better  when  she  is  near  us. 


THE  SND. 


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